


People Don't Do That

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superstar Dave Strider comes home to discover his little brother wants to jump his bones and won't take no for an answer. WHOOPS!</p><p>Fill for the <a href="http://homesmut.livejournal.com/14212.html?thread=27182212#t27182212">kinkmeme</a>:</p><p><i>"I'd like to see an Alpha Dave/Bro fic where -- although he's younger -- Bro is clearly still the one in control. Like, </i>Dave<i> is the one being seduced and taken advantage of."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"It's solid, but you still need to change the subtitle."

"I don't see what's wrong with it."

"Electric Boogaloo is played out."

"The staleness is the point —"

"Maybe that'd fly if that were what you were actually trying to do, but it's not. Electric Boogaloo isn't played out _enough_ for that to work. You're an old man trying to stay culturally relevant by reaching into a stale jar of dead memes long picked over by the kids, but the only thing you accomplish in doing so is making yourself look even more behind on the times than you already are. You're better than this pedestrian tier one ironic gesture."

"First of all: thirty-fucking-three is _not old_ —"

"Like I said, ancient."

"— second, Breakin' 2 came out in 1984. This is hardly the domain of 'the kids'."

"A meme's peak relevance isn't always directly tied with the inception of its source content, and it's fairly clear that your decision to use it in the title is a response to its contemporary propagation — specifically, its transformation into a shorthand for a markedly absurd and unnecessary sequel which has all but divorced itself from any connection to Breakin' 2 itself — and not a rad retro callback to the yesteryears.

"And even with that aside, pop culture references are the last refuge of humor; simply _mentioning_ something doesn't make substantive comedy, you have to actually _do_ something with it. Electric Boogaloo has no contextually significant relevance to the content of the movie at all and its implications are not explored in any meaningful capacity. You have to go further than that if you want your work to have any lasting cultural impact beyond a couple of chuckles from whatever group of internet teenagers happens to currently be tossing around a given meme."

"SBaHJ is already built on a solidly self-contained framework of irony. One reference isn't going to undo everything I've established."

"Maybe not, but don't try to tell me you couldn't come up with a better title. You should aspire to define and manipulate popular culture, not platitudinously play to the whims of a transient zeitgeist. Make the new Electric Boogaloo."

"You are such a little brat."

Dave pushes open the theatre doors into parking lot, reflexively shielding his eyes against the glare of the Texas sun. His sunglasses hang from the collar of his shirt; so ubiquitous is his sleekly dressed bespectacled image that he finds himself a modern day Clark Kent, a change of eyewear between obscurity and conspicuity. Dressed casually in jeans and an ancient tie dye shirt that would have been supremely obnoxious had a decade not caused its colors to all but fade away entirely (a gift from his kid brother, mocking given; worn with the same ironic spirit with which it was bestowed, though the years have imbued it with a sentimentality that Dave admits is just a _little_ bit sincere), the superstar has managed to attend a test screening of his own movie and escape relatively unmolested, the eye-assaulting enormity of his creation aside.

Dirk steps through the held open door — with no thanks, of course, because that's not something they do — and makes a brisk pace to where the car was left parked. As Dave trails leisurely behind, he notices that arrogant little skip in his step the kid gets whenever he thinks he's just won an argument; Dave's decided he's going to make the call tonight, so he basically did, but Dave doesn't have to let him find that out today.

As Dave approaches the car in the lot, he goes to dig in his pockets for the keys and is altogether unsurprised to find them missing — Dirk is gleeful in displaying his theft as soon as he notices that Dave has realized they're gone, in dangerous proximity to the driver's side door. Dave puts on his best impression of a Disapproving Dad face, though he has a feeling he's not particularly good at it.

"No way, kid," Dave says, making a half-assed grab for the keys that Dirk easily evades. "It's fucking rush hour traffic, I am not getting in a car with you behind the wheel. You haven't even gotten your permit."

"Please, like I haven't been stealing the car since I was 12," Dirk retorts; though his tone makes it sound like a joke, Dave knows that probably only means he started even sooner.

"What the fuck did I hire those babysitters for?"

Dirk laughs. It's become something of a joke between them — when Dave came home from a shoot years back to discover Dirk had driven the sitter to quit by building a robot facsimile to "do her job more efficiently and effectively without being a fat stupid bitch", Dave gave up and figured the brat could look after his own damn self. "Shut up and get in the car," the kid says, sliding into the driver's seat. Dave makes certain his brother hears his histrionic groan as he walks around to the passenger door.

The first thing Dave does after he settles into the car is put his sunglasses back on, and instantly feels about a hundred times more comfortable — even the bright sun aside, he feels naked without them. The kid's fostered the same habit with his own pair of pointy shades; they look like a right couple of douchebags, too cool for this peasant Earth, and that's half the fun. Also, completely true.

Dave is immediately terrified the moment Dirk turns the key in the ignition. He has seen some shit in his life, but there is seriously little else more horrifying than getting into a car driven by a fifteen year old. Dave finds himself fidgeting and slamming on phantom breaks, and they're on the road for about thirty seconds before Dave is convinced he's going to die.

"Holy shit, slow down."

"I'm barely doing 45."

"It's a 25 zone!"

"Who the fuck drives the speed limit?"

"No one, but if you're pushing more than like 7 over we're gonna get pulled over by a cop."

"There are no cops around."

"They fucking hide, dumbass, slow down."

"What's the point of being absurdly famous if you can't get out of a speeding ticket?"

"You don't even have a fucking license, I'd get a hell of a lot more than a speeding ticket."

"My point stands."

"I am _this close_ to murdering you."

Dirk takes exacting care to drive precisely 7 miles an hour above the posted speed limit for the rest of the trip, doubtlessly calculated to annoy Dave — but he bites his tongue and is thankful for any little thing that keeps his heart rate below "bursting out of his chest". Dirk makes a point of being good at everything he does, and driving is no exception — but while he's certainly _capable_ of handling it well, he seems to prefer being as reckless as humanly fucking possible, much to Dave's displeasure.

Dave thanks a god he doesn't believe in when Dirk parks the car in the lot of their apartment complex. He does his best to shake it off and pops the trunk before stepping out onto the pavement. "Help me with my bags," he says to Dirk, who begrudgingly obliges.

They start to get looks as they make their way into the building, but the tenants mostly know what Dave's about and leave them be. They begin the long treck up the stairs — the elevator's out, again — and Dave is becoming increasingly wary of an impending midlife crisis.

"Why don't you just let me buy you a fucking house? Anything with less fucking stairs, seriously," Dave grouses as they reach the fifteenth floor, weighed down by the luggage and feeling exhausted. It's not like he's out of shape, but it seems like the climb gets harder every time he does it. Dirk hasn't even broken a sweat, and Dave is almost embarrassed.

"Why do you still wear that shitty shirt?"

"You gave it to me," Dave answers reflexively, and Dirk just laughs.

Dave wishes for death by the time they make it to the top floor. He shoves his key into the lock of their apartment door, throws it open, and drops his bags on the floor. The first thing he does when he steps into the flat is trip over a dismembered puppet.

"Jesus Christ, bro," Dave curses, now conveniently located in a prideful position on the floor. Dirk's schadenfreude appears to be in full swing today, as evidenced by the snicker he makes little effort to hide. "This place is a fucking mess. Hire a goddamn maid if you're too lazy to pick up after yourself, I give you more than enough cash."

"I like it. Squalor and disarray are my patron saints," Dirk jests as he finally offers Dave a hand to help him up, which he takes and uses to unsteadily clamber to his feet. 

Dave notices a couple of things at that moment: the kid is nearly taller than he is now, which is new; that the only thing in the kitchen that isn't a puppet or a broken robot is a half-eaten bag of cheetos, which isn't; and that Dirk is still holding onto his hand, which he's not sure what to think about. He just cocks an eyebrow wordlessly and the kid pulls away, embarrassed, as if he hadn't realized he was doing it.

It's a while before Dirk speaks. "How long will you be staying?" He asks, in an artificially even tone that makes Dave feel obscenely guilty.

"I'm not sure," Dave starts, rubbing the back of his head. "The sequel's pretty much wrapped up, so until I sign on for another project, I can stick around."

"Do you have anything lined up?"

Dave wants to tell him no. "Few things kicking around, but nothing that's a set deal. A couple of months, maybe. I don't know."

Dave could tell him no, but he doesn't. At this point he's got more money than God, and could retire now and live comfortably for the rest of his life, but he doesn't. He feels guilty and negligent when he's away months at a time to film, but he knows he'll end up anxious and bored and itching to leave the moment he comes home, so Dave has stopped making promises he knows he won't keep.

It's been a long time since Dave has seen Dirk last. They speak on the phone, but probably not enough.

An awkward silence stretches between them when neither of them can figure out anything to say.

"Want to watch TV?" Dave finally broaches. He doesn't want to watch TV, and he's sure Dirk doesn't either, but the kid shrugs and agrees anyway.

They spend five minutes turning over the living area in search of the remote before Dave gives up and just presses the button on the fucking TV and leaves the channel as it is. Does anyone bother to learn how to change the channel with the box? Dave sure doesn't care enough. He flops down onto the futon next to Dirk and sits through a commercial in listless silence. He's positively overjoyed when the greasy orange face of The Situation fills up the screen. They are certainly not going to be bored.

The consumption of media in the Strider household is a transformative experience. They make it their fucking own. Swiftly they settle into their routine of vicious commentary; what would be a pathetic and embarrassing blight on entertainment becomes high comedy, or at least enhanced by a plethora of topical penis jokes.

A particularly uninteresting string of commercials interrupts their fun, and Dirk unexpectedly poises a personal question. "Have you been seeing anyone?"

Dave is curious where that came from, but figures it doesn't hurt to answer. "Nah. Haven't been on a serious date in, what, three years? Actually, wait, I had a thing with the Foxy Slunt for a while, but that ended so badly I've started repressing the memory."

"Oh."

"What about you? See any girls?" Dave asks. Loaded as hell.

Dirk briefly looks to Dave when he speaks, but doesn't reply. Dave raises an eyebrow.

"Well, that's one hell of a non-answer."

The commercial break has ended, but now neither of them are paying much attention to what happens to be going in or out of Snooki's vagina.

"I got what you were getting at, and you get what I'm getting at." He sounds almost nervous. If that much bled through the Strider Front, Dave has a sense of how uncomfortable he actually is. Sometimes it surprises him how much they manage to communicate by deliberately obfuscating their emotions and avoiding ever actually saying what they mean.

"I figured as much," Dave says quickly. He would be surprised they'd never had this conversation before if Dave weren't so phenomenally good at being a shitty absentee parent.

Another uncomfortable silence. Fuck, the kid's probably looking for him to be supportive or some shit, isn't he?

"I mean, it's fine. Good, even. Whatever you wanna be, that's cool with me." Dave immediately wishes he could have phrased that better the moment the words leave his lips. He inwardly kicks himself.

Dave wants to fidget in his seat as the next awkward pause unfolds. The both of them make a show of being transfixed by the television, though the tension has cut the hilarious commentary dead.

After a long time, Dirk tenders a hesitant question. "Have you ever...?" He keeps his tone cool and even, like he doesn't care about the answer, but the way he's incapable of actually finishing the thought is telling.

"No," Dave replies, but the swiftness with which he answers makes his brother stiffen perceptibly. He wants to leave it at that, but guilt pushes him to further disclosure. "I mean, kind of. There've been times I've... wanted to, but girls were always easier to deal with. Much more likely to be interested, anyway."

All he has to say to that is "Oh," but Dave can feel the atmosphere of the room shift. He lets himself relax a bit, and gets up to look around in the kitchen.

"When's the last time you went to the store? Seriously, there is absolutely nothing here but cheetos. I am turning this sty upside down and failing to procure anything that isn't a fucking puppet dong."

Dave turns around to see Dirk had, at some point, gotten up and moved to stand behind him. He raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I missed you, bro."

And then Dave suddenly realizes that Dirk is standing... awfully close. "Um. Yeah, it's good to see you again, kid."

His expression is inscrutable. He doesn't want a hug, does he? The kid hasn't wanted a hug in half a decade. Dave stiffens uncomfortably.

Uh, yeah, that sure is a hug. He awkwardly pats his brother's back and waits for it to end.

Except it doesn't end. Instead, Dirk puts his lips to his ear, slips his hands under the waistband of his pants, and whispers, "Want to fuck?"

_WHAT_

Dave jumps out of his fucking skin. He flips the fuck out in a random direction and ends up toppling over backwards onto the futon. And it's just as well, because _Jesus fuck holy shit why the fuck do I have an erection?_

He scrambles to the opposite end of the futon from where Dirk comes to stand, putting as much space between him and his passively-onlooking brother as is humanly possible, and does his best to conceal the other kind of uncomfortable stiffness that has so inexplicably arisen. Actually, what's much more inexplicable is how _completely fucking explicable_ Dave is finding it. What he most wants at that moment is to crawl under a rock and die, but second after that is a passionate longing for the power to forcibly burn thoughts out of his head. 

Dave sputters a cacophony of unintelligible noises before finally composing himself enough to spit out a half-coherent string of sentences. "Oh my fucking _god,_ Dirk! _Fuck!_ What the fuck was that?! What — just — _why!?_ "

The kid has his hands shoved in his pockets, calm as calm could be. He looks amused, if anything. "Just a question," he answers with a flippant shrug.

There's no way he doesn't notice how blatantly Dave is trying to hide his crotch. Oh god no.

Dave exhales shakily. "Don't. Just, fuck, don't do that. I nearly had a fucking heart attack, seriously. Not fucking funny." It was a joke, right? It had to be a joke.

Dirk isn't laughing.

"You're... you're serious."

"What if I am?"

Dave, for some reason, can't stop staring at his lips. He now wishes to gouge his own eyes out. _No. What the fuck, no no no, this isn't happening._ "I— wow, I just. No."

His brother just raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trained at Dave's drawn up legs. _Oh fuck._ "Why not?"

"Because you're my little — Jesus, I'm practically your fucking dad!"

"Genetically speaking, I would be —"

"You know that's not what I fucking meant, bro. I raised you. You're my kid. People don't _do_ that."

"Actually, a significant plurality of people have and do do that. Not that I'm terribly concerned about what other people are or are not doing. That's entirely irrelevant to our individual circumstance."

"That's not — fuck, dude, _incest._ "

"Wait, let me check something — " Dirk mockingly pats around the top of his head. "— oh, huh, it looks like I'm _not_ anencephalic after all!" He drops his arms and crosses them across his chest. "Yes, addlepate, I am aware of that. Since this point is apparently eluding you, what I am attempting to communicate through my deliberately obtuse dismissals of your repetitive objections is that _I don't fucking care._ "

Dave gapes, speechless. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly. After a long period of silence, the only thing he can manage is "Why? Can't you find some guy your own age?"

Dirk bristles; he's clearly touched some sort of nerve, but since Dave has kept practically no tabs on the kid's personal life, he doesn't know what kind of mine he's stepped on. Dirk quickly brushes it off and answers like it should be obvious. "When you're as hot, hilarious and immeasurably perspicacious as I am, the pool of worthy romantic prospects shrinks considerably. Who's a better match for a Strider than another Strider?"

The kid never makes any move to come closer, but Dave feels trapped all the same. He just wants to run and not fucking deal with this anymore, but there isn't exactly any place for him to run _to_. His mouth has gone dry; he wets his lips.

"Maybe you should go to your room for a while," Dave suggests, tone carefully drained of any emotional inflection. Not a command or a reprimand; Dave would very much like to bolt and lock _himself_ away, but Dirk has the only other room in the apartment that isn't the fucking bathroom.

Dirk stands motionlessly for a time, but eventually shrugs and turns to leave without a word. He closes the door to the hall quietly behind him.

Dave has never been more utterly fucking dumbfounded in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

What the fuck do you do after getting felt up by your kid brother?

If there were ever a question more perplexing, Dave can't think of one. Sat on a park bench with his laptop open beside him, he takes a drag from his cigarette. He hasn't smoked in maybe ten years.

Dave hadn't even attempted to sleep. He sat on the futon for fifteen minutes, took his laptop bag and fled. He left the rest of his shit behind, figuring Dirk would realize that he just needed some time to himself, and wasn't bailing out entirely.

Dave hopes it doesn't come to that, but he can't say he isn't considering it.

He could deal with the proposition. It's his own fucking fault for practically abandoning the damn kid; it's obviously some desperate plea for attention as a result of his negligence. He could suck it up and swing trying to not be such a shitty parent.

What he can't deal with is how part of him actually wants to take him up on his offer.

However fucking horrified of himself he is for even contemplating it, somehow the floodgates were fucking opened and he has since been helpless to stop it. A scenario repeatedly runs through his head where he takes it a step further, turns it around instead of running away, bites at his brother's lips and slams him against the counter and —

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to blot it out but it _won't fucking go away._

After leaving the apartment, he spent the better part of the night and the early hours of the morning wandering the streets and accomplishing not much other than being fucking disgusted by himself. He called his agent the moment he knew he would be awake and set up an inconveniently early meeting with a screenwriter whose script he already knew he would hate, but that did little other than waste time.

So now he sits in the park, exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette at his lips doing nothing to calm his nerves. He has no more excuses and nowhere else to run, but he sure as hell isn't ready to go back. He hasn't come up with a single fucking answer.

Now seems about the time for last resorts.

Dave puts out his cigarette and signs onto Pesterchum.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

TG: lalonde  
TG: lalonde  
TG: help lalonde i am moments away from death  
TG: if i am unable to gaze upon the purply purple prose of a snippy bookshrew within the next 10 seconds i am going to die of a broken heart  
TG: itll be so fucking tragic you dont even know lalonde  
TG: youll want to base a shitty book series off it but fuck if ill sell you the rights and dont think my ghost wont sue you for everything you own  
TG: lalonde stop sucking off gay wizards and talk to me  
TT: My apologies, Dave. I have removed all of these errant wizardly phalluses from my mouth, however reluctantly.  
TT: What is it that you need?  
TG: do you believe in miracles  
TT: I assume my response to this question is an ultimately irrelevant stepping stone to the undoubtedly riotous bon mot that is about to take form.  
TT: I will simply sit back and allow myself to be blown into the next calendar year by your sublime wit.  
TG: that sure was a lot of dumb bullshit you just typed  
TG: but no actually i just want to have a big gay feelings jam  
TG: bust out the cherry garcia and pop in a lifetime movie  
TG: doesnt matter which one they are all the same fucking movie  
TT: Color me shocked.  
TG: yeah thats right im actually willingly asking you to psychoanalyze me  
TG: hope you had a change of panties on hand for when you mad creamed yourself   
TT: I thought Striders didn't have feelings.  
TG: we dont  
TT: Curious.  
TG: anyway my lil bro wants me to have sex with him  
TT: ... Uh.  
TG: yeah  
TT: Wow.  
TG: yes wow lalonde  
TG: now how do i deal with this  
TG: can you prescribe me some pills to make it go away  
TT: Well.  
TT: It isn't my intention to cast aspersions on you, but are you sure you aren't just reading into something that is not actually there?  
TG: whats that supposed to mean  
TT: Are you absolutely certain that his intentions are overtly sexual? Is there anything you may have misinterpreted?  
TG: dude he like  
TG: he literally fucking put his hand in my pants and asked me if i wanted to fuck  
TT: ... Oh.  
TT: I see.  
TT: That sure is a thing.  
TG: yes lalonde it is definitely a thing that happened and continues to be a thing that happened as we speak  
TG: it becomes even more happened with every breath we take  
TG: fuck  
TT: Do you want to?  
TG: no jesus dick that would be the most illegal move in the history of parenting of course i dont want to  
TG: it is the absolute last thing in the world i want to do  
TG: if you asked me to write a list of things i didnt want to do it wouldnt even be on the fucking list because i would never have even contemplated it being a thing that could even be fucking thought  
TT: Then what is the problem?  
TT: He's just a kid; tell him no and why it's wrong and be done with it. He can't make you do something you don't want to do.  
TG: because  
TG: fuck i can barely even will my fingers to type out this god awful shitstain of a sentence  
TG: i also kind of want to  
TG: does that make any fucking sense at all  
TT: No.  
TT: But also yes.  
TG: its just like  
TG: hes my goddamn baby  
TG: i fed him and raised him and changed his fucking diaper  
TG: theres no way i could think of him that way it is fucking wrong and gross  
TG: but then he does this thing that MAKES me think of him that way  
TG: so on top of the whole wow gross he is my kid gross thing  
TG: ive got this holy shit what the fuck is wrong with you are you some kind of pedophile child molester thing  
TG: so i basically feel double wrong and gross  
TT: Pedophilia is the attraction to prepubescent children. Your brother would be well outside of that range.  
TG: shut up you know what i meant  
TG: what the fuck am i supposed to do  
TT: What do you want to do?  
TG: i just want this to have never happened and i dont want to ever think about it again  
TT: Sadly, not a realistic option.  
TG: yes lalonde i am painfully aware of that  
TG: i need to make this stop but i have no fucking idea what to do or how  
TT: Have you tried speaking to him about it?  
TG: how  
TG: how do you have a conversation about something like this  
TG: yo sup dog lets have an in depth heart to heart about my penis and how much you cant have it  
TG: i cant even form a coherent thought about this let alone formulate an actual argument and then speak it  
TT: You're doing a perfectly fine job now. Tell him what you're telling me.  
TT: Probably minus the "I want to" part.  
TG: man its not the same when i got his smug ass voice mouthing off back to me  
TG: like everything i could say that isnt completely fucking retarded just dies in my throat and gets replaced with idiotic buttflustered bullshit out of nowhere  
TG: and honest to god i think im seriously fucking afraid of him  
TG: im afraid of what hell do and im afraid of what ill do if he keeps doing what im afraid hell do  
TT: A fairly obvious solution presents itself.  
TT: If speaking to him face to face is difficult, why don't you talk to him on Pesterchum?  
TG: ugh no hes even more infuriating to talk to on the internet  
TT: Then do nothing.  
TT: Let this sore fester and spread until there is nothing viable left of your relationship.  
TG: ugh lalonde  
TG: ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh  
TG: look at all these ughs i have lalonde theyre just slipping through my fingers  
TG: im scrambling on the ground trying to pick them up but theres just too many  
TG: ill never be able to hold them all  
TT: Your facetious deflections are awfully cute, Dave, but also entirely unhelpful.  
TG: fine  
TG: ill do that i guess  
TG: and thanks  
TG: for not freaking out and everything  
TT: It isn't my place to judge you or vilify you for feelings you have no control over, provided the actions you take are wise.  
TG: i really do appreciate it  
TG: also when are you gonna let me adapt your shitty wizard books  
TT: I would not allow you to lay your grimy hands on my work in a million years.  
TG: cool just checking  
TG: talk to you later

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

 

Shit. Now he has to like... actually do that.

He opens the pester window.

He closes the pester window.

He gets up and paces around the park, cursing audibly. The only other person there is a passed out homeless man, who jolts awake and seems unhappy about it.

Dave moves as far away from the hobo as possible, sits down on another bench, opens his computer, types the hastiest fucking message possible, sends it, then sits with his palms pressed into his eyes until he hears the expedient chime of Dirk's reply.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: sup lil man  
TT: Oh, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honor of being graced by your digital attentions on this most auspicious of afternoons?  
TG: yeah leave the attitude at home junior  
TG: its time for us to have a big boy chat  
TT: Fifteen is not five.  
TT: I have a hunch that our communications could be more ameliorable if I were not treated as if I were.  
TG: no thats what this is about  
TG: you are my kid  
TG: i will never not think of you that way  
TG: no matter how old you get that isnt going to change  
TG: ever  
TT: I see.  
TG: no you really dont  
TG: god knows you probably see this as some sort of challenge but its not  
TG: it is an immutable fucking fact  
TG: you are banging your head against a brick wall and that will accomplish nothing but getting you hurt  
TT: Thanks for your concern, bro, but I think you'll find I'm more than capable of handling myself.  
TT: It seems you're the only one getting unduly worked up about this.  
TG: no fucking shit of course im worked up about it  
TG: do you have any idea how hard this is for me  
TG: and dont you fucking dare type some dick joke at me i will murder you dont think i wont  
TT: Ok, I won't.  
TT: But it's still hard, though, right?  
TG: oh my god  
TT: A genuine inquiry isn't a joke. I do believe I have successfully evaded the parameters you established for my imminent death.  
TG: i am literally tearing my hair out  
TG: i have put my fists in my hair and i am pulling it out  
TT: Ok, I'm sorry. That was me being a shit.  
TT: But I really don't see the issue.  
TT: I am not some vulnerable little kid at the mercy of your predatory advances.  
TT: This was a decision I came to of my own volition. You haven't "groomed" me.  
TT: And let's be honest,  
TT: You were never much of a parental figure to me anyway, considering you're never around.  
TG: wow thanks guy that makes me feel so much better  
TG: but no  
TG: thats not even the fucking issue  
TG: the issue is that i dont want to do it  
TG: and im not going to do it  
TG: never ever  
TG: this isnt a negotiation bro  
TT: I'm not stupid. I know you're attracted to me.  
TG: jesus fucking christ no  
TG: scream  
TG: this is the part where i would be throwing my biggest yells at you bro  
TG: you can pretend i am just ricocheting off the walls propelled by the force of the 20 mile long rage snake i am shitting out right now  
TT: Ok.  
TT: You can pretend I'm laughing condescendingly at your childish display.  
TG: why are you doing this to me  
TG: why cant you just let it be  
TG: please  
TT: Because it's something that I want, and I know the heart of your objection lies with societal pressures and stigmata that I find to be petty and irrelevant.  
TG: have you just like not read a single word i said to you  
TT: I read them.  
TT: I also know you well enough to know it's bullshit.  
TT: You're afraid of what people would think of you.  
TT: You're afraid of doing something that you were taught to believe is wrong, and moreover, that other people believe is wrong.   
TG: of course im fucking afraid of that  
TG: you should be too  
TG: you know i could fucking go to prison for that right  
TG: do you know how fucking far the tabloids would run with it if anybody found out  
TG: my life would be over and you would never even get to have one  
TT: I'm already not going to have one.  
TT: Meteors, et cetera.  
TG: this again really  
TT: Fine. Allow me to humor your stalwartly pigheaded skepticism, although I would like the record to state that I still think you are being utterly ridiculous considering the mountain of evidence that has accrued.  
TG: ugh  
TG: its not that i dont believe you  
TG: im just not putting down every chip i have onto some magical fucking video game destroying the world  
TT: Whatever. I don't want to go through this fetid horse shit again. Back to the aforementioned humoring:  
TG: always have to have the last word  
TT: Look who's talking.  
TT: _Anyway_. I'm not an idiot, and neither are you.  
TT: I am sure you can manage to resist bending me over in the public square.  
TG: ugh no stop dont even say shit like that  
TG: what dont you get  
TG: i am a public figure my entire life is under constant scrutiny  
TG: if i make the tiniest mistake i will be done  
TT: Woody Allen is still around.  
TG: woody allen really  
TG: jesus fuck if were comparing ourselves to woody allen just shoot me now  
TG: also its different because one you are fucking fifteen  
TG: two i am your actual legal guardian  
TG: three gross  
TG: four no  
TG: five shut up  
TT: Such compelling rhetoric.  
TT: But, as you wish.  
TT: I'll back off, if that's really what you want.  
TG: yes that is really what i want  
TG: and now in return for this great kindness you have done me i will pretend none of this ever happened and i will never speak of it again  
TT: You are a truly selfless man.  
TG: yeah ok  
TG: talk to you later kiddo

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

 

Dave is shaking with anger and nerves and self-loathing, but a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders all the same.

He can deal with this. If Dirk doesn't push it, they'll get through it. He'll take him to the fucking zoo and the ice cream parlor and shower him with all of the fucking parenting he never got until it's fixed and the kid never feels like he needs to do something like that again.

He's still terrified all the same, and pesters Lalonde as one last delay.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

TG: hey  
TT: You know, I do have actual work to get done.  
TT: Each precious minute of mine you steal away is another tearful death threat in my inbox, a poor soul devastated that I have not delivered the latest awaited installment to his pudgy pork-like hands the exact moment he desires it.  
TG: shut up  
TG: anyway i talked to him like you said  
TG: and i guess things are ok now  
TT: Oh?  
TG: yeah  
TG: i kinda shit the bed but in the end he backed down  
TT: That's good.  
TG: it makes me so fucking mad though  
TT: Hold on, let me refer to my schedule.  
TT: Oh, what's this?  
TT: It looks like I have a solid day of productive writing booked, but never mind that.  
TT: I'll just clear everything out so I can listen to all of your problems.  
TG: dont pretend you dont love every fucking second of this  
TT: You've caught me.  
TT: Anyway, do tell me what makes you so fucking mad.  
TG: its just the way he fucking walks all over me  
TG: he knows exactly what to say and do to make me lose my shit  
TG: and then he ends up with the upper hand with his calmly condescending bullshit that just makes me 20 times madder  
TG: i swear to god he is exactly fucking like you its unreal  
TT: That's flattering.  
TG: no seriously  
TG: if you were a hormonal teenage boy with no conception of boundaries or basic fucking empathy  
TG: thats him  
TG: sometimes i think our kids must have been switched at meteor  
TT: An amusing thought.  
TT: But, as I understand, this is par for the course; it is the very nature of adolescence to become enraptured with desultory insolence and driving one's guardians to madness.  
TT: My relationship with my own daughter has been similarly strained as of late.  
TT: They will grow out of it, given time and patience.  
TG: want to trade  
TG: id much rather have a kid who tries to piss me off through substance abuse than one who does it by inviting me to a game of hide the sausage  
TT: No.  
TT: However infuriating she can be, she's my daughter. I wouldn't have it any other way.  
TT: And I think you will find that neither would you.  
TG: stop being right its pissing me off big time  
TT: Sorry, it's a curse I struggle with every day.  
TT: And now, in all seriousness: I really do have to work.  
TG: alright  
TG: i think im ready to stop shitting in my baby ass diaper and deal with this  
TG: go write your wizard slash  
TT: Take care, Dave.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

Dave takes a deep breath and shuts his laptop. It's time to face the music.


	3. Chapter 3

Dave stands at the door of the apartment, hesitant.

Frankly, he's terrified. He has no idea how he's going to face Dirk, even if the kid sticks to his word. He's embarrassed and ashamed and he wants nothing more than to just run away.

But he doesn't. He puts his key into the lock, turns the handle and steps inside. He realizes he's holding his breath.

There's no one in the living area. The short walk from the front door to the hall becomes an insurmountable chasm that he can barely bring himself to cross. But he's come this far already, so he puts one foot in front of the other until he's suddenly standing in the doorway of his brother's bedroom, desperately searching for where he misplaced his words.

Dirk looks up from his computer when he notices Dave's presence. His hair looks wet. "What?" he asks; he seems a bit surprised, as if he weren't even expecting Dave to come back.

Dave's mouth opens and closes. The expectant, impatient look steadily growing across Dirk's face makes him even more uncomfortable. Eventually, he manages a weak question, "I said I'd take you to the DMV to get your permit when I came down here. Want to go?"

"Uh, okay. Sure. Give me a minute?"

"A-alright. I'll be in the car," Dave mutters, stepping back into the hall. He takes a change of clothes into the bathroom, since he imagines he must not smell fantastic at this point. He wants to shower, but part of him is afraid the kid would pick the lock and jump him. Instead he settles for a splash of water on his face and an application of deodorant, and heads out to the parking lot.

*

They ride in the car in complete silence.

The DMV is horrendously crowded. Dave does his best to keep his head down; if anyone recognizes him, it'd be a fucking scene. Thankfully, the woman at the counter seems to be at least 90 years old and doesn't look at them twice when she hands them their number and the paperwork.

They take a seat on a horribly uncomfortable wooden and go through the forms. It's short work, and they're quickly left to waiting in listless silence.

After an awkward fifteen minutes, Dirk attempts to establish some sort of rapport. "Look at that guy over there," he mutters in a hushed voice, nodding in the direction of another bench. "You think he looks like a crack addict?"

Dave looks. "Nah, that's meth." His eyes scan the room. "See that lady there? _That's_ a crack addict."

"She just looks tired to me. Also, pregnant."

"Oh, I didn't even see that. I thought she was just fat."

"How many fat crack fiends have you ever seen? I'm beginning to doubt the veracity of your supposed drug addict identification expertise."

Dave laughs softly, his gaze falling over to his brother for a moment. Dirk smiles, so warm and sincere that Dave dave is unnerved despite himself — he has to look away, and the spectre of discomfort falls over them again.

Dave is relieved when their number is called and he's given a reprieve from the awkward tension. They get an odd look after Dave hands over his ID with the paperwork, but fortunately nothing more. Dirk is agitated when he's informed he has to take his shades off for his photograph. He requests it be retaken several times, each time recoiling in horror at the travesty on the screen. Eventually Dave has to break it to him that looking hideous on your driver's license is just something everyone has to deal with.

When everything's in order, the attendant shows Dirk to the testing terminal. Dave waits anxiously. Ten minutes later he's passed, they go through the motions with the final documentation, and it's done.

"You excited for your first time driving _legally?_ " Dave jokes as they step out of the building, tossing Dirk the keys.

"Nah. I think I liked it better when I was breaking the law. Now it's boring."

Dave rolls his eyes.

*

As they stand in the foyer of the apartment, Dave finds himself at a loss for what to do next.

He wants to thank the kid for backing off, but mostly wants to say nothing and try to convince himself it was nothing but a bad dream.

Then Dirk is suddenly pushing Dave up against the door, crushing his lips against his own, and Dave has to take a moment to be fucking _stunned_. He tries to struggle, but the kid's got Dave's wrists pinned up against his sides and _Jesus fuck_ the whole weight of body pressed up against his, which includes a pretty fucking obvious erection. On both of them now. _Shit_.

Eventually Dave manages to wrest his hands free. He digs his fingers into the kid's shoulders and forcefully shoves him back; he stumbles and loses his balance and then Dirk is the one sprawled on the floor, eyes blazing behind his askew shades.

"What the fuck, bro," Dave chokes out, his voice cracking miserably. He tries to further back away but just ends up pressing himself flush against the closed door, looking very much like a cornered animal. "We talked about this. You said you would fucking stop."

Dirk looks confused.

It dawns on both of them at the same time.

Dave's shoulders slump as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh, you've got to be fucking _kidding_ me."

Slowly and as gracefully as he can manage, Dirk pulls himself to his feet and fixes his shades on his face. He holds up a hand and looks away, expression intent. "Let me look at this log," he says, voice even as ever. Dave sits in paralyzed silence, horribly discomforted. That hands-free computing shit is unnerving to watch.

After a time, the kid's gaze snaps back with a smirk on his face, like it's all just so _amusing_. "Heh. I don't know whether to be annoyed he's defying me or proud he's started to establish individuality."

"Defying you?"

"The problem with his perspective, really, is that he's only emulating the shit going on in my head. Without the hormonal influence of the gonads, he isn't able to reproduce a fully verisimilitudinous response to —"

"Wow, enough. What?"

Dirk hesitates, as if unsure of how to word what he wants to say. "I don't intend to capitulate so easily when it's transparently obvious that you want this as much as I do."

"This is so fucking stupid," Dave blurts out incredulously. "I'm telling you fucking _no_. Why is that so fucking hard for you to understand?"

"Because —"

Dave bristles with anger, his nails digging into the palms of his clenched fists. "Fucking _hell,_ no, no _'because'_. No _fucking means no!_ Oh my fucking God, you are _literally_ being a fucking rapist right now —"

"I haven't _raped_ you. Don't be ridiculous," Dirk interrupts dismissively. There's a small, irritated inflection in his voice, like he's mildly inconvenienced by having to deal with a hysterical child's temper tantrum. Dave has to harness all of his willpower to not fucking strangle the kid.

"You know what — no, fuck it —" Dave blindly gropes for the doorknob behind him, his wild, furious eyes still trained on his brother. "Fuck you. Just _fuck you._ " 

Dirk just raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest.

When it becomes clear that there's nothing he could say or do that would illicit any sort of normal fucking human reaction, Dave just picks back up his shit, wretches open the door and slams it behind him as loudly as he can.

*

He knows he's not going to do it.

He knew he wasn't going to do it in the first place, but as he stands at the edge of the bridge with his hands gripped tight on the rail, he thinks about it. It would be so much easier if he didn't have to _deal_ with it — but as he stares down at the murky river below and imagines the water rushing to fill his lungs, Dave knows he doesn't want to die, so he's shit out of luck.

Instead, he lights his second smoke in... how many days has it been? Dave still hasn't slept since his plane touched down in Houston, which feels like an eternity ago. He brings the cigarette to his lips and leans against the rail, pensively surveying the city skyline. Once again he finds himself at a complete loss, just utterly drained of all of his energy, and thinking hurts. He exhales the smoke into the air, but it doesn't make him feel any better.

It's come to the point where Dave is certain that his only recourse is to leave, but he's wary of even that. If he really wanted to, there's enough in their pesterlogs that Dirk could start some nasty rumors, if not criminal indictment, and Dave isn't sure if that's a line his brother wouldn't cross to spite him. Or is that just another rationalization to convince himself to stay, and give in to his desires while styling himself a victim all the while? Does he want to push Dirk to the point of just _taking_ what he wants, so he can have him _and_ blame him?

Dave honestly doesn't know. He feels sick.

He looks down at the cigarette in his hand and suddenly feels so fucking _angry_. He channels all of his rage and frustration into the stupid fucking thing like it's hurt him personally and spikes it into the river below. It's oddly cathartic. He watches the running waters carry it away until it disappears behind a bend.

*

Dave orders a black coffee.

The barista pauses when she sees Dave's face, but his shades are off and he looks so unbelievably exhausted and disheveled and generally fucking shitty that she seems to decide there's no way he could _really_ be the famous Dave Strider. She makes his order and takes his cash with a fake smile.

Dave takes a seat at a table in the corner of the shop, letting his bag slide off his aching shoulder onto the floor. Most of him aches at this point, really; he's been walking around all day, and that combined with the sleep deprivation has begun to take its toll.

He sets his laptop up on the table and absently clicks through some websites as he drinks his coffee. It's over-roasted and bitter and burns his tongue, but he chokes it down anyway.

Eventually, he logs into Pesterchum.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

TG: hey lalonde  
TG: guess what   
TT: What?   
TG: just guess   
TT: No.   
TG: come on i want to have a snarky back and forth to make me feel like im still cool and fresh before i launch into whining again   
TT: Alright.  
TT: Dave, I think I have to regretfully inform you that you are neither cool nor fresh, nor have you ever been.   
TG: yeah well i have to GLEEFULLY FUCKING SLAM YOU with the knowledge that you smell like a crusty cats anus  
TG: god damn how does it feel to get told that badly  
TG: i just showed you everything that could ever get shown  
TG: thoroughly educated you on the subject of getting laid the fuck out by the unparalleled force of that ailing burn   
TT: Ailing is a good word for it.   
TG: thank you   
TT: There, have you gotten it out of your system?   
TG: yeah i guess  
TG: anyway remember the last time we talked   
TT: Yes.   
TG: remember how i said everything was just fucking dandy  
TG: argument had problem solved life upending crisis averted   
TT: Mhmm.   
TG: yeah that happened  
TG: that was a thing that transpired it was real and all  
TG: except  
TG: it turned out i just got his sunglasses to agree to stop playing grab ass  
TG: the one with actual hands is still at large   
TT: ... Wait, what?   
TG: his autoresponder rose  
TG: it was his fucking autoresponder  
TG: oh my fucking god   
TT: Oh dear.  
TT: I take it you've since had another... unfavorable altercation with your brother?   
TG: yes  
TG: he tried to make a pass again  
TG: and i flipped the fuck out obviously because i thought that shit was fucking done  
TG: i tell him that  
TG: then he stops checks the logs  
TG: and he basically tells me  
TG: shit hes pestering me hold on   
TT: Alright.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TT: Hey.   
TG: this better be one hell of an apology im about to hear   
TT: Look. It's the auto-responder.   
TG: oh  
TG: uh   
TT: I suppose some kind of apology is indeed in order, if not necessarily the one you're hoping for.   
TG: uh yeah about that  
TG: you want to give me a run down on why exactly you decided it was a good idea to pretend to be my lil bro and falsely lead me to believe i had convinced him to step off my dick when in actuality he remains in a state of not stepping off my dick  
TG: an issue i would have quite liked to not be mistaken about  
TG: you know just a point of curiosity   
TT: I was trying to prove a point.  
TT: To DS, that is.   
TG: and that would be??   
TT: I hoped that by running through the scenario in his stead, he would be able to later review the exchange more impartially when placed in the position of an outside observer, as opposed to one of an active participant with all of the emotional clouding that comes with it.  
TT: I know what his arguments would have been, since, you know, I'm him. I represented his stance accurately.  
TT: And he acknowledges that the conclusion I arrived at was the rational one.  
TT: He knows it's the conclusion he would have made, if he were being rational.  
TT: Unfortunately, he is not being rational.   
TG: hahahaha so even his robot clone thinks hes batshit   
TT: You could say that, provided you wanted to sound really dumb for using terms that are wrong.  
TT: That aside, whatever attraction he has to you developed long subsequent to my "birth", as it were, so this is an area in which we are cognitively divergent.  
TT: From my position, I think he is sort of being a fucking moron.   
TG: youd think thatd be a sign   
TT: I can understand it, in a sense. But, given the circumstances, I think acting on this impulse is rash and absurd.   
TG: when did this shit even start   
TT: Thanks to my being a totally rad pinnacle of computational technology, I can inform you with blinding speed and precision that the exact first occurrence of this subject in my logfiles was on February 15, 2010 at 23:41:16.  
TT: And if I were him, which I am, I would want to spitball such a pressing problem with my precious pseudohuman partner of palaver pretty promptly.  
TT: Which is what he did.  
TT: What I'm saying is that's when it happened.   
TG: you know sometimes i forget you are a fake person in a pair of glasses  
TG: then i remember and its suddenly weird  
TG: this doesnt stop from happening   
TT: It seems you are distressed by the nebulosity of my realness attribute.   
TG: dont start   
TT: Ok.   
TG: did he tell you what caused it or whatever   
TT: He didn't have to tell me.  
TT: I know.  
TT: I'm him.   
TG: except when youre not   
TT: Yes.   
TG: so are you going to tell me   
TT: No.   
TG: why   
TT: Because I don't want to talk about it.  
TT: They're also sort of my feelings.  
TT: You're my bro. It would be weird.   
TG: but im not actually your bro  
TG: you are a pair of sunglasses   
TT: Well, I wasn't expecting that to hurt as much as it did.  
TT: But it sort of did.   
TG: uh   
TT: It seems you don't fully understand the nature of my being.  
TT: At least, this is what I will tell myself in order to feel less shitty about that thing you just said.   
TG: uhhhhh   
TT: You know what, I don't think I want to talk about this anymore.  
TT: I will leave you to your meat person problems, that I could never understand because I am just this huge fake calculator.  
TT: Bleep bloop.  
TT: (Translator's note: that's Robot for "bye".)

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

 

TG: ok so  
TG: i think i just made his sunglasses cry or something   
TT: You were always such a sensitive man, Dave.  
TT: You exude such pathos that I find myself weak in my dainty authorial knees.   
TG: yeah yeah  
TG: hilariously enough i think it was trying to stage some sort of intervention  
TG: even it knows this is messed up   
TT: If I've understood correctly, this auto-responder is a comprehensive artificial intelligence that simulates your brother's cognitive processes, yes?   
TG: robot clone yeah   
TT: That's actually quite fascinating, that it's begun to reach independent conclusions.   
TG: yeah the coolness factor of my bros droidglasses is pretty much my number one concern right now   
TT: Whine whine whine. Bitch, moan.  
TT: If you need some Midol, Dave, you can just pick it up at the pharmacy.   
TG: yes we established this as strider whining time  
TG: fuck if im not gonna capitalize on this scarce as shit opportunity  
TG: plus ive also kind of been freaking the fuck out since this started  
TG: and youre literally the only person i trust enough to talk about this to so theres that   
TT: You know I wasn't being serious. It's fine, Dave.  
TT: You were telling me before about your brother?   
TG: yeah  
TG: basically hes not going to give up until i submit to what he believes is my patently obvious lust for him   
TT: Which is a problem, because you _do_ lust for him in a patently obvious fashion?   
TG: yes   
TT: At this point, I urge you to seriously consider professional therapy.  
TT: For the both of you.   
TG: no way  
TG: i cant tell anyone about this shit  
TG: a stray word of this festering anal fistula of a debacle escapes to the media and i may as well just nail together my own cross and hop on   
TT: Dave, you know I can recommend you several qualified and discrete professionals.  
TT: If you're willing to travel, my own has been consistently excellent and has never betrayed my trust.   
TG: yeah but everyone thinks youre some crazy ass witch blasting lazers out of your eyes and garbage  
TG: im just a guy  
TG: a totally amazing and completely badass guy who could kick any ass in the damn universe but still just a guy  
TG: i cant kill people with my brain   
TT: I could extend my threats to kill people with my brain to cover you.   
TG: ugh  
TG: i just  
TG: i cant do it   
TT: Then I don't know what to tell you.  
TT: I don't have any magic spells to cast to fix this.  
TT: If you refuse outside help, your only recourse will be your own forbearance.  
TT: And if that is not something in which you would place your confidence, you will fail, and you will have to face the consequences of your actions.   
TG: great  
TG: thanks lalonde  
TG: that uplifting endorsement just gave me this incredible idea   
TT: Which would be?   
TG: i am going to get plastered as HELL   
TT: Dave.   
TG: and forget any of this is happening   
TT: No.   
TG: too late rose  
TG: oh damn whats this X in the corner of this window  
TG: whoa  
TG: whoa  
TG: what do you think will happen when i click it   
TT: Dave.   
TG: shit lets find out

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

*

By the time Dave walks to a bar that's far enough away from the apartment that he feels secure enough about not doing something stupid, it must be pretty fucking late, but he doesn't care enough to actually check. 

He takes a seat at the bar and flags down the bartender, who is apparently more astute than the barista Dave encountered earlier in the day — a smirk of recognition spreads across his face upon noticing Dave. To his credit, though, he doesn't flip the fuck out.

"It's not every day we get a celebrity on a bender in here," he says. "What can I get you?"

"Christ, keep your voice down," Dave hisses, glancing about warily; thankfully, it seems like none of the other patrons have noticed anything. "I'll have a martini."

The bartender works quickly and with good form, putting as much effort into making a good show as he does a good drink. He slides the glass over to Dave when he's finished, who swiftly starts off onto the path of drunk.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what's got you lookin' like you're at death's door? I can't imagine you having any money or honey troubles."

Dave is not in the mood for a heart to heart, so he settles for a flippant evasion and hopes the other man gets the point. "Just murdered this whole truck load of hookers and I don't have anywhere to dump the bodies. _Harrowing_."

He doesn't; he just laughs. "Come on. Drinks on the house; I could use a good story."

Dave fishes in his pocket for his wallet, then counts out 5 twenties onto the bar. "You can have all this if you shut up and keep pouring me drinks," he says, after downing the last of what is sure to be the first of many.

"I think I can live with that," the guy concedes, taking the cash off the counter with a wry smile.

Dave works through drink after drink with silent diligence. He's a man on a mission, and that mission is to get black out fucking drunk. He is accomplishing that mission thoroughly.

Eventually, when he feels sufficiently blasted, he slurs out a question to the bartender. "Y'got Wi-Fi?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Dave takes his bag and his drink and finds himself some secluded booth in a corner to dump himself into. He very barely manages to avoid spilling the martini all over himself, though he does find the leather seat to be a very comfortable place for his face for a time.

He gets out his shit, connects to the network, and then forgets what he had planned to do in the first place. 

He kinda feels like he wants to throw up but he's not really sure.

Dirk pesters him.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TT: Thanks for turning your phone off and letting me worry you jumped off a bridge all day.   
TG: np   
TT: ...  
TT: I see you had a little chat with the AR earlier while I was in the shower.   
TG: i sure ddi  
TG: wait didnt you take one just before i got home  
TG: why the fuck do you take so many  
TG: waste of water   
TT: Because I just lied.  
TT: I was actually masturbating.   
TG: wow  
TG: ok  
TG: logs off   
TT: Wait.   
TG: what   
TT: Will you tell me what you discussed?   
TG: cant you just look at the log   
TT: No. He's blocking me from reading this one.   
TG: you let it do that   
TT: Of course I do.  
TT: He's an autonomous sapient entity, with the same right to privacy any other person would enjoy.  
TT: If he doesn't wish for me to be privy to every facet of his penetralia, I can respect that.   
TG: except for the part where youre asking me to tell you about it now   
TT: No, I'm needling you to violate his confidence _for_ me.  
TT: Responsibility consigned and conscience ameliorated, motherfucker.  
TG: yeah ok  
TG: we were talking about you  
TT: I could surmise as much.  
TT: Specifics?  
TG: eh fuck it  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent timaeusTestified [TT] file "whatever.txt" --   
TT: Hold on, let me read it.  
TG: k  
TT: Wow.  
TT: You are a fucking imbecile.  
TG: thansk bro  
TT: No, seriously.  
TT: I'm just holding my head in my hands right now.  
TT: This is embarrassing.  
TG: im sorry  
TG: i guess  
TG: wasnt really thinking too hard about its feelings or wahtever  
TT: You certainly weren't.  
TT: I mean, Jesus, how would you feel if _your_ brother slash parental figure summarily disavowed your relation and personhood?  
TG: pretty bad i guess  
TG: ok i get it i was being an ass  
TG: tho for the record even shades prick is bei  
TG: oops  
TG: being a better bro than you are  
TG: right nwo  
TG: you can tell him thta for me  
TG: hes my new favrote son  
TT: Ok, why are you suddenly typing like a boozehound.  
TG: cuz ima BOOZIN dog  
TT: Seriously?  
TG: you have literally driven me to dirknk little brother  
TG: hope your feeling mad kinds of remosre over this business i mean  
TG: just look at my livre  
TG: the poor little dude is just swimmin in all of this poison  
TG: trying to paddel around  
TG: splashes at the surface and gaps for breath  
TG: but its no use  
TG: hes just too dense  
TG: hes sinkin  
TG: the mecriless tides of gin and vermouth pullin him down and swallowin him up  
TG: he panics and the sewet nectar of oblivion does and go fill up his little mini liver lungs idk  
TG: anyway my liver just tragically drowned to death in  
TG: booze  
TG: who knows which of my organs will b e next  
TG: maybe my haert  
TG: and its all your fault kid  
TG: you did it in the libary wtih the candlestick  
TG: none of that shit i just said maid any kind of sense  
TG: i havent slept in like 2 fuckign days  
TG: also  
TG: drunk  
TG: anyway if your emad at me about pissing off your robot does that mean youre oging to leave me alone  
TG: about that thing  
TG: with the penise,s  
TT: I feel stupider just reading this.  
TG: ta  
TT: That wasn't even a word.  
TG: t h a n k s  
TT: Where the hell are you?  
TG: a bar  
TT: Yes, dinkletwat, I figured that much out.  
TT: Which bar?  
TG: the farthest away bar  
TG: that there is  
TT: Let me come get you.  
TG: hahahahga no moron  
TG: in my delicate stat  
TG: youd take advanage of me  
TG: and id probbly let you honesdtly  
TG: im drunk not dumb  
TG: o htelling you taht was pre dumb though  
TG: blaem it on the goose  
TG: got you feelngi loose  
TT: Oh no.  
TG: blame it on patron  
TG: got yuo in the  
TT: Stop.  
TG: zone  
TT: Stop right now.  
TG: blame it on the  
TG: a  
TG: a  
TG: a  
TG: a

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] blocked turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 


	4. Chapter 4

Dave wakes up in a pool of his own vomit.

Actually, it's not strictly accurate to call it a _pool_. It's more like a thin dried film spread out beneath him, and when he tries to sit up, the front of his shirt sticks to the pavement. He inhales and finds his nose half-blocked by sick, which sets him to sneezing and sputtering and coughing. The revulsion makes him want to be sick again.

Dave rolls onto his back and looks up into the thin band of sky between the tall buildings he currently finds himself sprawled beneath. The light of the sun immediately sears his sensitive eyes and ignites a blazing migraine in his temples. 

_Fuck._

He turns on his side, shielding his face from the light, and tries to remember what the fuck happened. Surely, not anything that involved Dave exercising any fucking degree of good judgment. He recalls the bar, a drink, and then oblivion.

He wishes he'd at least thought to drink some fucking water. Even the alleyway and bed of vomit aside, the throbbing pain in his skull alone makes this a contender for the title of worst hangover he's ever fucking had.

Eventually Dave realizes he can't lie there forever and, unsteadily, pushes himself to sit up. He tries to wet his dried, cracked lips and finds his tongue equally parched. The motion just hurts.

Eyes squinted to ward the worst of the light, he casts his gaze around to take in his surroundings. He seems to have chosen to take a nap next to a dumpster, and he's suddenly aware of how bad everything smells — but he's honestly not sure if that's the dumpster or _himself_. He looks down at his vomit-stained shirt and regrets it.

What he also notices is that he appears to have been robbed.

Dave finds his phone haphazardly strewn out next to where his head had lain (the battery nearly dead, at that — he quickly shuts it off to save what he can), but otherwise, it seems like everything else is gone. _So, not only am I stewing in my own filth, I don't have a fucking dollar to my name. Fantastic._

Climbing to his feet is an effort. It feels like every muscle in his body is sore; there's a pain in his spine that makes it difficult to even stand, so he has to lean against the side of the building to support his weight. Laboriously, he shuffles his way to the street.

Dave has absolutely no fucking idea where he is.

Apparently, he somehow decided to pass out between... a Chinese diner and a law office? What the fuck? How did he even _get_ there?

Dave decides he doesn't even want to think about it and steps out onto the sidewalk. He keeps his head down as he walks, as much to avoid the painful glare of the sun as to avoid being recognized by any potential passersby. Thankfully, apart from the spare jogger or two, the sidewalks are mostly clear of people, and those he does pass don't pay him any mind.

He reluctantly realizes what he's going to have to do. He doesn't have money to call a cab, and he's pretty much hopelessly lost — even if he _weren't_ lost he's so fucking exhausted that he probably couldn't actually walk anywhere _anyway_ without collapsing after ten minutes.

Begrudgingly, Dave slumps into a nearby bench and turns on his phone. He probably only has a couple of minutes left on the battery, if that. He quickly dials his brother, cursing under his breath as he waits for him to pick up.

After several tortuous rings, Dirk finally answers. "Hello, brother," he says, with a sardonic twinge that sets Dave on edge.

"Can you not _be_ like that— just—" Dave exhales through his teeth, irritable and exasperated. "Will you please come pick me up?"

"Crawling back already, I see."

Dave rubs his temples. "Look, I'm tired, I'm lost, I have a headache, I think I was robbed and my phone is about to die, so will you stop being such a _huge bitch_ for five seconds and fucking help me?"

Dirk sighs, as if _Dave_ is the one being immature. "You weren't _robbed_. Some guy came by last night and dropped off the shit you left at the bar," he says, and then adds, "Dunce." 

"Oh."

It's a weight off his mind, at least. He's glad he doesn't have to go through the trouble of cancelling his credit cards, but even more so that no one would have gotten ahold of some of the chat logs on his machine. He suddenly feels incredibly stupid for not deleting them in the first place.

There's a moment of silence before Dave speaks again. "... So are you going to—"

" _Yes,_ " Dirk interrupts, and Dave can practically hear him roll his eyes over the phone. "But first, It would help if you'd actually tell me where you are."

"Ugh, let me find a street sign..."

*

It feels like an eternity later when Dirk finally pulls up next to Dave on the street. The look the kid gives him when he rolls down the window is one of amazement; he even pulls down his shades to be certain he's really seeing it.

"Wow, you look like _absolute shit_."

"Thanks," Dave says, deadpan, as he gets to his feet and makes his way around to the passenger side door.

Dirk laughs at him when he gets inside. "Seriously; look in the mirror. It's almost impressive."

Dave pulls down the car visor, flips open the mirror and laughs himself when he sees it. _Holy cock_.

He looks like he's aged at least fifteen years. His eyes are horribly bloodshot, encircled by dark rings that make him look like he hadn't slept for a month. The entire side of his face that he had checked out on the pavement is smeared with dirt, and the other is half-covered in crusted vomit around his nose and mouth; what parts of his jaw that aren't concealed by nasty grime are covered in uneven stubble. His hair is... revolting, frankly, limp and oily and tangled with several foreign objects that he can't even identify. Dave is overwhelmed by a desire to shower.

"Fuck, I look worse than Lindsay Lohan," Dave laments, staring at his reflection. "Get me the fuck home, if the paparazzi catch me in this state every tabloid in the country is going to be talking about what is obviously my crippling drug addiction."

Dirk puts the car into drive and pulls onto the road, still laughing.

*

Dirk is pushing Dave in the direction of the bathroom the moment they enter the apartment.

"Go fucking wash that nasty shit off," he says. "I left some clean clothes in there before I went to pick you up."

For once Dave is more than happy to comply with his brother's demands — though he double checks the lock of the bathroom door.

Dave strips quickly, letting his soiled clothes fall to the floor in messy heap. He turns on the showerhead and steps into the stall; the hot water on his skin is such an immense relief. Tension dissipates from his muscles in waves. He leans his head back and lets the spray hit his face, wiping away the worst of the grime with soap. 

After he goes through the motions of making himself not be gross, Dave decides he may as well beat off while he's in there. It's been days since he last got off, which is likely not having a particularly positive impact on his ability to make judgment calls.

Leaned forward against the wall of the shower, Dave thinks of the barista from the coffee shop. He remembers she was pretty, though he can't even recall the color of her hair or her eyes or the shape of her face. He imagines her smiling at him, with the way it doesn't quite reach her eyes. As he curls his fingers around his cock, he imagines how she might lick and kiss her way up his shaft. He imagines her lips pressed against his head, how they part to envelope him in the heat of her mouth, and slides his fist down in time.

And then she's the man from the bar, his face even more an indistinguishable blur. He imagines his rough hands on his thighs, masculine and firm. He imagines the wet suction of his tongue, how his head would move up and down on his dick, quickly and then slowly and quickly again. Dave shudders as he tightens his fist and hastens his pace, leaning more of his weight against the wall.

And then it's Dirk.

Dave doesn't have to imagine Dirk. He can see the way his messy light hair plasters to his forehead, wet from the spray of the shower. He can see his vibrant orange eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. He can see his soft pale lips, and he can feel the breadth of his tongue licking at his head, and when the kid takes his cock in his hand and rubs it along his cheek and presses his lips against the base, just to be an infuriating tease, it's _real_.

Dave's breath grows heavy and labored and suddenly his arm is too sore to support him, so he slumps his full shoulder against the wall, forehead pressed to the slick tile. Dirk takes him into his mouth, as deep as it will go, rhythmically massaging the flesh with his tongue, sucking as if he's _hungry_ for it — and all the while he's got this annoying expression, so very _pleased_ with himself. He works up a faster pace as Dave edges closer, blowing his throbbing cock like his life _depends_ on it, and then — and then —

Dave watches his seed wash away through the slats of the shower drain and feels vile.

There's a hollow weight in his chest a he shuts off the shower, steps out and dries himself with a towel. He does his best to not think about it.

After wrapping the towel around his waist, he does a quick job of shaving his face in front of the mirror. Though he still looks utterly exhausted, he's a bit less vomit-inducing.

Dave finds the clothes Dirk left him folded on the tank of the toilet; there's an old button-up shirt, a pair of thin grey pants and clean briefs. As he dresses, he counts himself lucky the kid didn't leave him a belly shirt and a leopard print thong.

Dave steps out of the bathroom and shuffles back back into the living area. Dirk is sprawled out on the futon, playing some kind of god awful skateboarding game — though, from the looks of it, he's not so much _playing_ it as exhaustively searching for ways to break it. Dave feels guilty when he looks at him.

The kid doesn't look away from the TV when he speaks. "Left you some asprin and water on the counter."

"Thanks," Dave mumbles weakly, making his way over to the kitchen space. He finds the asprin and glass of water where Dirk said they'd be, and quickly knocks back the pills. 

Also laid out on the counter are his laptop and wallet, along with a stack of papers that looks suspiciously like a script. There's a note left out on top of it, which he picks up to read.

_Hey,_

_You forgot these things at the bar last night, but you left before I could catch you. I saw this address on your ID so I swung by after my shift and dropped them off._

_\- Barry Dwight_

_p.s. I left you a copy of one my screenplays. I'd really appreciate it if you could give it a look and let me know what you think! My number is 832-555-0183._

"Heh," Dave muses to himself, dropping it back onto the counter. He'll look at it later. Or say he'll look at it later, and then forget. It'll probably be the latter, if he's being honest with himself.

Dave suddenly realizes how very tired he is, and with a yawn, wanders over to where Dirk lay on the futon. "Hey," he starts, tentative. "Do you mind? I need to pass the fuck out."

Dirk looks up from the screen. He's successfully just lodged his dude head-first into a wall, causing the injury sound to play repeatedly as the model futilely spasms in a glitchy epileptic fit. It's more than a little distracting.

"Just use my bed," he replies flippantly. "It's way more comfortable than this shitty old thing."

Dave runs his palm over his face, exasperated. " _Dirk._ "

Feigned ignorance and a smirk. "What?"

"Please just let me sleep on the futon."

"No," he replies, expression inscrutable behind his shades. It's unnerving.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to sleep in my bed, obviously."

"You are being serious kinds of creepy right now."

Dirk does not deign to respond, instead opting to stare unyieldingly up at Dave. The miserable tortured cries of the glitched out skateboarder are all that fill the room.

It's becoming readily clear that Dirk does not intend to relent. The kid is stubborn as all get out, and Dave knows that he will sit there, completely unmoving, for six fucking days straight if he has to. That, on top of the fact that Dave is practically about to pass out, kind of makes him not even want to fucking bother with this stupid power play.

"How about we cut the shit and get to the part where I get what I want, since that is what always happens anyway," Dirk says, so fucking smug Dave wants to punch him.

"But I don't _want_ to," is all Dave can manage, suddenly feeling like a child.

"That's too bad," Dirk says. He finally pauses the game proper, and rises to begin roughly pushing Dave in the direction of the bedroom. "C'mon, get going."

Dave just wants to fucking sleep. With a tremendous sigh, he gives up and lets himself be pushed around, though he does his best to look thoroughly unhappy about it. "You are _the_ brattiest little dickprick."

"Thank you," Dirk replies, tone sickeningly sweet.

Then they're in the bedroom, and Dirk unceremoniously shoves Dave down onto the mattress. "There, that wasn't so hard. Enjoy your nap, big bro." 

"Hey," Dave mutters as the kid turns to leave. Dirk stops in his tracks, looking back to Dave inquisitively.

"What is it?"

Dave lets his eyes flutter shut, exhaling faintly. "Look, I — just... thank you. For today. For not —"

When Dave opens his eyes again, Dirk's face is an inch from his, and the words die in his throat. The kid took his glasses off, with the full unsettling intensity of his gaze trained straight into his brother's eyes.

And Dave is just too fucking tired, in every sense of the word, to pull away.

The kid's lips are soft and warm, and uncharacteristically tentative, as they brush against his. Dirk is still for a time, as if waiting for Dave to fight, but grows more eager when his brother offers no resistance. Arm braced beside Dave's head, he leans further in and parts his lips to gently catch Dave's between his, kissing and teething the skin lightly. Dave's breath is tremulous as he exhales against his brother's mouth.

Then Dirk pulls back, just the tiniest fraction of an inch, so that their lips all but touch, and _waits_. The loss of contact makes Dave starve for it again, and that's fucking exactly what the kid wants. Eventually it's too much to withstand; Dave finally just lets himself _have it_ , and as he leans that tiny minuscule distance up to slide their lips back together, any pretense of restraint Dirk may have been holding on to disappears.

Suddenly the kid's straddling his hips, chest flush against his, hands clenched around his wrists where Dirk's pinned them above his head. His brother only tightens his grip when Dave reflexively tries to pull free, so he just relaxes and allows his body to fall slack and compliant beneath Dirk's weight. Dirk bites and sucks ravenously at Dave's mouth, licks at his lips until they part, and then his tongue is probing inside, rubbing against Dave's own, and _Christ_ he tastes good. Before long Dave has grown as ardent as his brother, arching his back up into his touch and the bit of bare skin exposed by his rucked up shirt, impossibly hot against his own. The feel of the kid's hard cock straining through the all-too-thick fabric of his jeans drives him _insane_.

Dave gasps for breath when Dirk breaks away from his mouth and turns his attention to his jaw and neck. As Dirk begins to sidle down his brother's body, kissing at his throat and biting at his collar hard enough to mark, he releases his wrists, but then Dave is left unsure what to even do with his hands.

He settles for breathing heavily and staring, wide eyed, as Dirk slowly works at the buttons of his shirt, pressing his lips against the new bit of skin exposed with each fastening. Dave hears the blood rushing in his ears as his heart hammers in his chest.

Dirk makes it to the waistband of his pants before Dave freaks out.

"Fuck, no, no — stop — don't — _fuck_ what are we _doing_ ," Dave protests, writhing and squirming out of Dirk's reach. The kid has to back away towards the end of the bed when he begins to kick.

The look on Dirk's face would be hilarious if Dave weren't completely losing his shit. Surprise, anger and childish petulance coalesce together to form a expression reminiscent of a five year old discovering he got nothing but socks for Christmas — as Dave recoils away from him, he seriously _pouts_.

"Oh, _come on_ ," Dirk groans dramatically. " _Seriously,_ bro. All I wanted to do was suck you off, make you feel a little better, you know."

"Dude, _no_ ," Dave chokes out, clumsily trying crawl off the bed and run away. _Shit shit shit shit shit I almost fucking_ let _him_ —

Dirk lets loose the most histrionic sigh that has ever left the lungs of a human being and grabs after his brother, hauling his struggling body back down onto the mattress.

"Fuck, let go of me!"

"Calm down, you big baby, I'm not gonna fuckin' do anything," Dirk grits through his teeth as he wrestles with Dave for control.

Eventually the kid seizes the upper hand — it's not particularly difficult given Dave's fatigued state — but he has to hold his brother down onto the bed for a considerable time before he gets the point that Dirk does not, in fact, plan to fuckin' do anything.

Dave is more confused than anything at this point.

"What are you doing?" he asks, glaring suspiciously at Dirk.

"If you're not gonna let me S your D, at least let me hold you or some lame shit like that," Dirk says, manhandling Dave until he settles down under the covers, and then climbs in beside him. "This isn't that weird." 

"No, this is still pretty weird," Dave grouses, but he warily accedes nonetheless. He's fucking exhausted and doesn't have the energy to fight, and _fuck it_ , he doesn't really want to. When Dirk pulls Dave's head against his chest, he just allows himself to relax, close his eyes and breathe in his brother's scent.

Dirk begins to idly run his fingers through Dave's hair. They lay together quietly for a time, and it's pleasant and warm and almost seems to take the edge off his splitting headache. Then the kid goes and ruins it by opening his mouth.

"Do you mind if I jerk off?"

"... Please don't."

Siiiiiiggghhh.

"Well, my shoulder is getting a cramp like this. I was gonna turn you over and get some sick spooning business going on, but I sort of still have an erection, so don't go and have a conniption when I introduce your ass to Officer Friendly."

" _Still?_ What, did you have a goddamn steel rod put in that thing?" Dave grumbles, but turns over on his side anyway.

"Sure," Dirk says, repositioning to wrap his arms around his brother's waist. "That, or I'm fifteen, and also kinda still thinkin' about banging the shit out of you. Whichever explanation you like better."

He definitely wasn't kidding about the boner. _Awkward._

Dirk nuzzles affectionately against Dave's shoulder. "It'll go away eventually. Probably."

"Dude, it's only getting — Christ, this is making _me_ feel guilty. Go take care of that thing in the bathroom or something, I'd rather be dead than be you right now. I'm not a fucking sadist."

"Yeah, I get up and you'll have a moral crisis and fling yourself out the window."

"No, just... it's fine. This is fine. I guess." He's suddenly very glad Dirk can't see his face. "I'm not gonna — just go ahead. I'll stay. I guess."

"I guess," Dirk echoes mockingly.

Dave exhales heavily, growing aggravated. "Okay, I give you my _one hundred percent assurance_ that I am _definitely not going to jump out of the window_."

"I _suppose_ that will do."

Suddenly the space in the bed behind him is empty, and Dave hears Dirk walk across the floor to the bedroom door. He listens to the click of the door as the kid steps out into the hall, the bathroom door opening and closing shortly after, and then all is silent but for the faint hum of the city far below.

Dave knows he shouldn't even be doing _this_. He knows that it doesn't mean as little as he's trying to rationalize it to. But rationalize it he does — it's not sex, he's not _touching_ the kid, it's not _that_ bad — and pushes down the voice in the back of his head telling him it _is_ that bad, and sooner or later it's going to fucking _lead_ to a whole lot more than a clothed erection grinding up against his ass.

He buries his face into the pillow, embarrassed to imagine what must be currently transpiring in the bathroom. He self-consciously buttons back up his shirt in a futile attempt to distract himself.

After what feels like an eternity of anxious agonizing, Dave hears the toilet flush followed by the running water of the sink. Dirk is soon back in the bedroom, and after he hears something that sounds suspiciously like the unzipping of pants, he shifts around to actually look at Dirk.

"What are —"

"Calm thyself the fuck down, I'm keeping my shorts on. Lying in bed in jeans is uncomfortable."

Dave looks away before he can see the boy's pants fall around his ankles. He finds refuge in a pillow again, hiding his face there. _Jesus_.

"Oh, yes, avert your blushing virgin eyes from my scandalous indecency," Dirk deadpans as he crawls back into the bed behind Dave, curling his arms around him again. "There, all better. Now get some sleep."

With a shaky sigh, Dave closes his eyes and lets himself rest.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dave flickers back into consciousness, the room is dark.

While he would hesitate to call himself a morning person ('cause really, _fuck_ waking up before noon), waking up in the dark kinda feels like shit. Something about the dimness just makes his head feel groggy and his limbs like lead, and he can't force himself to get up. He lingers in bed for what seems like an eternity, and by the time he can summon the will to really open his eyes and slide up to sit, it's even darker. All that illuminates the room is the dim glow of the city lights below, filtering through the window to cast soft, deep shadows across the room. The space in the bed behind where he had lain is a shadow of its own, long grown cold.

Blinking lazily, Dave's eyes scan his surroundings. He can only barely make out the silhouettes of the objects in the room, discernible to him only through familiarity. His heart skips a beat when his gaze falls on Lil' Cal, his... its... round, glassy eyes glinting unnaturally in the darkness. God, it's _stupid,_ but Dave is terrified of that fucking thing — the way its eyes follow you when you move, and the way it sits in complete stillness, giving off this _feeling_ that it's only lulling you into a false sense of security, just _waiting_ for you to turn your back so it can —

A shiver runs down Dave's spine, along with a deep pang of embarrassment. _Holy shit, it's just a_ puppet, _you giant manchild, it's not going to_ come alive _and_ —

 _jesus fuck did it just_ move _dick fuck shit oh my god why are puppets so fucking horrible_

In interest of not shitting his pants, Dave absconds the hell out of there. When he's put two doors behind himself and _it_ , he feels a little bit better, but he can't help but cast a wary glance over his shoulder.

Trying to shake it off, Dave looks around the living area. Dirk doesn't seem to be here, either; he left the TV on, the volume on low, and Dave walks over and turns it off. Dave figures the kid's probably gone off to the roof.

With a yawn, Dave shuffles over to the kitchen space. The counter is strewn with blades, along with the same half-eaten bag of Cheetos he'd noticed days ago. His wallet and laptop remain where he left them. He opens the fridge and immediately regrets it because _god damn these fucking shitty swords why are they_ in _here what does he even_ eat —

After he finishes shoving all of the wayward blades back into the place they most certainly do not belong (Dave had long learned to not even bother taking them out, since they find their way back in there anyway), he resolves to go to the damn grocery store.

But first, he figures it's time to catch up on the outside world he'd blacked out of his hysterical bubble. As soon as he powers on his machine and logs into Pesterchum, Lalonde sends him an ominous message.

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TT: Dave, we need to talk.  
TG: nah

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

 

Dave logs out of Pesterchum.

Dave honestly hadn't really even been thinking of what happened last... afternoon? He checks the time on his taskbar; it's nearly 9:15 PM. He'd slept almost eight hours. Shit.

So now he's thinking about it. Huh.

He really doesn't feel anything. He feels drained and beyond the ability to even care about anything.

He decides he doesn't really want to think about it after all.

He checks his email, immediately grimacing at the sight. Days' worth of garbage overflows in his inbox and he has no desire to read any of it. He gives a cursory skim of some correspondences from his agent and makes a note to call him later about an interview.

Then his phone rings. From the bathroom, from the sound of it. With a heavy sigh, Dave hurries towards the cacophonous racket of the horrific dubstep remix of _Crawling In My Skin_ he's now regretting setting as Lalonde's ringtone, and finds the source in his pants pocket, still laying where he'd dumped his clothes to shower before his little nap. What suspiciously isn't there where he'd left it are his boxers.

 _That_ makes him feel something.

Now in a heightened state of agitation, Dave grabs his phone and shuts it off.

The lights in the bathroom flicker and spark and the temperature suddenly feels like it's dropped below freezing and the hair on the back of Dave's neck stands on end.

The phone starts to ring again.

Dave throws his head back with the surliest expression he can muster, flips off the ceiling and lets it ring. Eventually (which is a considerable time indeed), she seems to give up, and the dark spectre shrouding the room quickly recedes as if it had never been there. Still, Dave shivers and rubs his upper arms, a futile attempt to stave away the otherworldly chill.

Dave decides to shower. He turns the spray on hot, hastily strips, and jumps inside. He makes it a quick affair; he blanks his mind, washes his hair, gives his body a one-over with some soap and then shuts off the water. He dries himself just as quickly and wraps the towel around his waist, though he does go through the trouble of blowdrying and combing his hair, because fuck it, he likes his hair.

The pile of dirty clothes looms imposingly from its heap on the floor. Dave supposes he may as well do the laundry when he goes out.

Dave is wary when he opens the door to the living area; he checks to be certain Dirk is still gone before he steps through. He finds shit still by the apartment door (he never even bothers to unpack anymore), and dresses quickly. In a proper suit with his shades obscuring his eyes, Dave almost feels like himself again.

With a sigh, Dave opens the apartment door and makes his way to the stairs to the roof of the building. He isn't looking forward to this encounter.

Dave finds Dirk where he expected him to be, standing off by the edge of the roof. He knows he has nothing to worry about, but he can't help be feel nervous to see him that close to such a very long drop.

"Hey," Dave says as he steps out onto the roof. Dirk seems a bit surprised when he hears his brother's voice, apparently having been preoccupied with something on his glasses; his head snaps back to the source of sound.

"What?"

"I'm going to go out and get some shit done. But first, it's time for us to talk about the latest dumb thing you did."

A smirk spreads across Dirk's face. "Oh? Whatever could I have done that was so _terrible?_ "

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Do I?"

Dave sighs and gives Dirk a scathing look, his tone deadpan. "Kid, what did you do with my underwear."

Dirk just laughs.

"Not only is that weird and creepy, it's serious kinds of nasty. I wore those for like two straight days. They were party to my horrific booze bender. Give them back so I can burn that shit."

"I'm sure you can find them if you look in the right place, bro," Dirk says, his expression smugly irreverent and antagonizing.

"... You're wearing them."

Dirk's face breaks into the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable. _Bingo_. Dave presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and groans.

"I wonder what I might have sniffed and licked while I was beating off in the bathroom earlier?"

"That was not a thing I ever wanted to know was a thing. Jesus dick, I'm gonna throw up."

"If you find this so revolting, perhaps you should lend me a fresher pair?"

"How about you stop being a really gross dude in addition to being an obnoxious sociopath. That would be the fucking bomb. Improve my life like twenty fucking fold."

"Well, then," Dirk starts, his hands moving to the button of his pants after he kicks off his shoes.

Dave recoils. "Oh _HELL no_. Don't even—"

"What?" Dirk asks, tone artificially innocent. He unzips his fly. "You want them back, right? I've got to take them off to give them to you. Don't hafta go and get so worked up about it, bro." His pants drop around his ankles.

Those sure as hell are Dave's underpants.

Dave stares. Logically he realizes he should probably get the fuck out of there, but instead he has somehow decided that standing in place with his eyes glued to his brother's bare legs is the better option. He feels pretty stupid and keeps looking anyway.

Then Dirk is hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his — Dave's — shorts. He takes his time in slipping them off, making a little show of it. Then, _yup, that sure is his penis. You are staring at your kid's penis. You are staring at your kid's penis and you have an erection and now he can see your penis, too. Fantastic._

After he steps out of the shorts, he pulls his jeans back up, puts his shoes back on, and nonchalant as can be, casually strides up to Dave to push the balled up undergarments into his hands. "Pick up some more Cheetos while you're out."

Dave watches him disappear into the stairwell, bewildered.

*

When the journalist sits down across from him at the table, Dave immediately delights in how patently uncomfortable the other man is. Irritation, from being called out at a late hour with no notice; intimidation, from the two unsettlingly large bodyguards sat on either side of Dave; discomfort, from sitting alone in an entirely booked out section of the restaurant; and revulsion, from the limp and greasy facsimile of breadsticks that lay in the basket set between them. Welcome to Olive Garden, motherfucker.

The interview is standard schlock; the journalist asks him softball questions he's answered a thousand times before and procedural shit about the release date of his next movie. By the time they're done, Dave is bored out of his mind and the journalist clearly believes Dave is the biggest prick on the planet. They part less than amicably, Dave receiving stares and whispered comments as he leaves the building and gets in the utterly gratuitous Mercedes he took for the night, detail in tow.

Dave directs his driver to the 24 hour laundromat and the grocery store in turn, sending one of his oversized toadies to run his errands for him.

He ditches his security detail a block away from the apartment (much to their consternation — Dave hates having them around, though, and firmly insists they get lost), and laden with laundry and groceries with his shades off, no one gives him a second look. Fortunately, the elevator is back in working order when he reaches the apartment.

When he opens the door to the flat, Dave is surprised to find Dirk seems to have waited up for him.

"What are you doing still up?" he asks, moving into the kitchen to put the mountain of shit he's carrying away. 

"Bro, we need to talk," Dirk says as gets up from his seat and walks around it to stand, leaned against the back of the futon. 

Dave really doesn't like that phrase.

"Give me a minute to finish," he sighs. When he's done, he turns to face Dirk and reticently asks, "What is it?" 

"We're _going_ to have sex," Dirk says. Dave opens his mouth to protest, but the kid swiftly cuts him off. "You want me, and don't bother trying to deny it, because both of us know it's true. I've made it perfectly clear that I don't intend to relent, and yet you keep coming back, again and again, like you _want_ me to push you. This is verging on inevitability, and maddeningly so. You know it's going to happen, so why won't you just cut this farcical song and dance and _just fuck me already?_ "

_Oh, not this horse shit again._

Dave bristles, uncomfortable and set on edge. "I've told you so many times. You're my kid. It's wrong. The media—"

"None of that even matters. There's less than a year until the fuckin' world ends anyway."

Dave throws his head back with a groan. "If you're so sure it's going to happen, why can't you just wait until the game starts? Why do you have to fucking torment me like this now?"

"I don't even know if you'll _live_ ," Dirk starts, a slight waver to his voice despite his best attempts to hide it. "I can't be sure _I'll_ live."

"Come on, we're Striders. Striders don't get killed," Dave says, doing his best to put on a cool face, but hell if the thought doesn't unnerve him as well.

"And what if we do? What if this is our last chance before everything goes to shit?"

Dave's throat grows tight.

When he doesn't answer, Dirk slowly closes the distance between them. Dave backs up against the counter, his fearfully wide eyes hidden by his shades. The kid comes to stand before him, far too close, and occupies himself with absently straightening Dave's tie.

"I want you," Dirk says, voice soft and low, as his eyes flit up to meet Dave's behind his shades. He takes another step forward, their bodies perilously close to touching. "I've got it bad, you know." He juts his knee between his brother's legs, pointedly grinding his thigh against his junk, and Dave's body responds despite himself. "It's all I really think about." His hands slip around to grip Dave's ass, squeezing firmly. They're pressed flush together now, Dave's breath heavy and nervous, and Dirk leans in to whisper in his ear, "I just want your cock inside me. Is that really so much to ask?"

Dave wants to say yes, it really is. He wants to push him away and tell him it's wrong and yell and scream and hit him and hate him for doing this and hate himself for wanting it but the words don't come. Dirk takes him by the wrist and then he's being pulled in the direction of the hallway, and _fuck_ he's following, _what the fuck am I even doing_ , and then they're in the bedroom and Dirk has pushed him down down onto the computer chair and he's climbed into his lap and his mouth is on his and the kids hands are everywhere they shouldn't be and Dave's heart is beating so hard he feels his chest might burst. Dirk rubs himself against Dave's dick through his pants, slight jerking movements that build up a maddening friction, kissing at Dave's lips and his jaw and his ear as he mumbles something breathy and unintelligible. He stills for a moment to take off both their shades and set them aside on the desk, his eyes predatory as they stare into Dave's.

And then Dirk pushes off the chair, Dave reflexively grasping at Dirk's hand as he does — but rather than make any move to pull him along, he simply lets Dave's fingers slip through his and backs up to the bed, letting himself fall when the mattress hits the back of his thighs. There he lays, leaned back on his elbows with his legs askew in such a way perfectly calculated to display the erection clearly visible through his jeans, and just gives Dave this _look_ that simultaneously sets his body on fire and freezes the blood in his veins.

_Fuck._

The kid's toying with him. He's going to force Dave to be the one to make the decision. Rather than take control and _just fucking do it_ , he's going to make sure that if he moves his own muscles to close that painful three feet of distance between them, all of the guilt and all of the responsibility will be on _Dave's_ head, and he will have absolutely no one to blame but himself. And the kid knows that he knows, as that smug smirk is so telling, and when Dave isn't sure whether he wants to punch it or kiss it off he feels sick to his stomach.

A silence stretches between them that seems much longer than it actually is, Dave's knuckles white as he grips the armrest of the chair. His little brother is clearly in no hurry; he lays near motionless from his seat on the bed, staring at Dave with those piercing eyes that reveal nothing yet seem to be able to pick everything else apart. It's in this moment, the one time the kid leaves the ball in his court, that Dave feels the most powerless.

The creak of the floorboards beneath Dave's feet as he tentatively rises from the chair is tortuous to his ears.

It isn't fucking fair. This is a game in which he should have every advantage, and yet he finds himself with nothing. He searches for ways to absolve himself of his weakness and hates himself when he does. He just wants to give up, give in, put all of the blame on his brother for being so fucking infuriating and insatiable and un-fucking-dissuadable — but he's not yet even half Dave's age, and everything that Dave has been taught is screaming at him that it's _not_ an excuse and that _he_ is the adult and _he_ has to be the one to take responsibility and end this before it's gone too far and he's done something he will never be able to take back.

And then Dave is standing at the foot of the bed between his little brother's open legs, his hands stuffed self-consciously into his pants pockets. He feels completely paralyzed with fear and longing and self-loathing and lust and doubt, and went he stares down at his brother below him his own face is so uncharacteristically bare. Even Dirk seems to grow a bit unnerved under his gaze.

Dave is a second away from bolting when Dirk finally runs out of patience and reaches forward to grab Dave's tie. He tugs it and tries to pull Dave down to his level, but Dave just goes rigid, utterly frozen in place with his eyes blown wide. The kid simply snorts and rolls his own dismissively, before pulling himself upright by Dave's tie — and if he cares at all about how his older brother chokes, he doesn't show it — until his body is flush with Dave's, neither making any secret of their arousal. Dave just grits his teeth with his head thrown back up to the ceiling, still having made no move to do anything, his eyes squeezed shut as if that alone could just will him into another time and place.

With his thighs clamped tight around Dave's waist, Dirk has removed any hope of escape. Slowly, his motions exaggerated and laborious like he's _just so exasperated_ that he has to do all this work, Dirk eases Dave's tie off from around his neck, and then unceremoniously casts it aside to be forgotten on the floor. Next he's pushing off Dave's suit jacket, which forces Dave to reluctantly retrieve his hands from his pockets. When the kid begins to work on the buttons of his shirt, Dave has opened his eyes and looked back down again, locked in a gaze with Dirk that makes him feel as if he's being eaten alive. Dirk never once looks at what he's doing; he just stares Dave straight in the eye like all that raw emotion and naked fear sustains him, never blinking until he's worked off Dave's shirt and his hungry gaze moves to devouring the expanse of his older brother's now bare chest.

Dave shivers when Dirk's hands begin to explore his skin, his fingers alarmingly cold to the touch. One of them slips around and presses into the small of Dave's back, and then Dirk is licking and kissing his body, every place his lips touch set on fire like some sort of maddening icy-hot that just pushes away any shred of reason Dave may have been fruitlessly clinging to. Dave lifts a hand to grasp onto his brother's shoulder, who flinches as if honestly surprised — but then he just steals a glance back up into Dave's eyes, blaring his infuriating triumphance even in the most fleeting of looks, before relaxing into his touch.

Dave's hands wander aimlessly, resting on his brother's bicep one moment and caressing the nape of his neck the next. He works his fingers into his hair and begins to... pet him, just something so soft and affectionate, and then Dirk pulls back, for once in all of this betraying some level of discomfort he may have not even known he held — but the both of them share a look that says it's too far gone, and if either of them wanted to reappraise whether the drop might just be too steep, it was too late to turn back now.

Dave brushes Dirk's hair off his forehead and _smiles_ something awful, sad as it is fond. Dirk looks as if he's close to balking, but when Dave finally leans forward and brushes his lips against his, the fire is back and any semblance of indecision dies in the air.

With a sharp, visceral intake of breath, the kid immediately seizes control and turns the kiss into a bruising one, clasping the sides of Dave's face in his hands. Dave loses his balance from the sudden forceful gesture, toppling forward — Dirk wastes no time capitalizing on the opportunity and shoves Dave off onto the bed, quickly swinging his leg over to straddle Dave's hips and return to hungrily biting at his lips.

Allowing himself his vice, Dave just gives himself to the lust, running his hands over Dirk's back and the curve of his maddeningly clothed ass. The kid clearly notices the change, and ever so pleased with himself, laughs softly into Dave's mouth.

"Oh, yeah, be more smug," Dave grouses, having broken away to scowl at his little brother ineffectually. This only seems to egg Dirk on; he sits back up, taking great care to grind his ass against Dave's crotch as he does so, and peels his shirt off from his body. That self-satisfied smirk is ever present as Dave's eyes rake over him — Dave finds his mouth dry when he moves to wet his lips.

Then Dirk is taking Dave's hands into his own and guiding them to his crotch, pushing Dave's palm against his straining erection. Dave flexes his fingers, squeezing it, which earns him approving sigh. Encouraged, Dave presses more firmly and begins to rub, pushing his fingers into the gap between their bodies to stroke his balls, then back up again, then back again. Dirk thrusts his hips into the touch, breath noticeably quickened.

Before long the kid's run out of patience, and he grabs hold of Dave's hand again to direct him to the fly of his jeans. Dave is hesitant, but Dirk makes it perfectly clear that he intends to wait for his older brother to do it himself. Dave's hands tremble despite himself when he fumbles with the the button of Dirk's fly, and then the zipper, and then _fuck_ he's not wearing anything under it and it's out and _holy fuck_ he's touching his kid's dick, _what the fuck_.

When Dave isn't sure how to proceed, Dirk takes the lead again, curling Dave's fingers around his cock. He guides Dave through the motions, squeezing here and rubbing there, showing his brother what he likes. When Dave has the hang of it Dirk lets go and leaves him to his own devices, Dave incredulous at the fact he is seriously jacking his kid brother off.

"What are we even doing," Dave mumbles, rhythmically stroking Dirk's length in his trembling hand.

"Don't talk, you're ruining it."

"Seriously, kid—"

And then Dirk bats Dave's hand away and crawls his way up his brother's body until he's settled back down astride Dave's chest and shoulders, his member politely thrust into his face. "Really, _shut up_."

Awkward stillness.

"Well, get to it, bro. I can't exactly do _this_ for you."

Embarrassed, but utterly unable to extricate himself given the positional circumstances, Dave settles for trying to squirm and turn his head away. It doesn't help.

"I haven't... uh..." 

That earns Dave a bark of laughter from Dirk that makes him cringe reflexively. "Goodness, brother, am I taking your _virginity_?" When Dave just scowls up at him derisively, Dirk rolls his eyes and takes on an exaggeratedly exasperated tone. "It's not difficult. Just cover your teeth and blow."

"But —"

"I'm not going to be pissed if you suck at it as long as you suck at it."

Dave groans.

"I swear, gettin' you to do one nice thing for your li'l bro is like pulling— _Oh_."

Then Dirk is doubling forward, catching himself with his palms at the head of the bed, as Dave takes his brother's length into his mouth. It's an uncomfortable angle, and Dave isn't able to move much; he mouths and licks at the head of his dick, Dirk trembling fitfully at the tantalizing stimulation. Before long Dave is all together at the mercy of Dirk's movements, the younger boy taken to thoroughly fucking his brother's face — thankfully, Dirk finds Dave's limit quickly and doesn't push far past it, shallowly thrusting into his mouth as Dave does his best to be participatory with the ministrations of his tongue. Awkwardly searching for something to do with his hands, Dave brings them up to grip and massage Dirk's firm spread thighs.

Dave is rather surprised to discover how much he enjoys the feel of it in his mouth, and the _taste_ , heady and savory and masculine, and he finds himself sucking at it as much for his own enjoyment as his brother's. The position is spectacularly uncomfortable, though — Dave quickly ends up with a pain in his neck that rapidly drains all the fun out of it. He extricates himself the first chance he gets, to Dirk's consternation, but cuts off the kid before he can complain.

"At least let me do it at an angle that doesn't kill my neck."

"Fine," Dirk accedes with a roll of his eyes, moving over to free his brother. As Dave sits himself upright and begins to work the kink out of his neck, Dirk busies himself with wiggling the rest of the way out of his pants and then discards them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. He reclines with about as much confident arrogance as one can manage whilst laying completely naked beneath his own brother, eyebrow cocked expectantly.

Dave ends up staring. Perhaps the most abrasive part of Dirk's bravado is how _right_ he always is about it — and his apparent confidence in his sex appeal is no exception. Though youthful, he is certainly far from childlike, slim and wiry with toned muscle, broad shoulders and long legs — Dave's eyes rake over his brother's body appreciatively. His dick is pretty fucking big for fifteen, Dave notes ambivalently. It looks like it's still smaller than his own, by not by terribly much, and probably not for much longer.

"Christ, is there _anything_ you'll go to on your own? Must I harangue your slow ass yet again?"

Dave is shaken from his reverie; this time it's his turn to roll his eyes. "You could stand to learn some patience, kid."

"You could stand to suck my dick, old man."

So he does.

Now settled between his brother's legs, Dave experimentally drags the length of his tongue up the underside of Dirk's cock, and the shudder that runs through the kid's body seems to mark that one as a success. It _isn't_ that difficult, Dave finds; while not particularly well versed in the majestic art of the skin flute, he knows what he likes, and that seems to be most of what Dirk likes as well. _I guess that's a point for incest_ , Dave notes sardonically.

Dave cups one palm up under his brother's balls and massages them gently, using the other hand to press the length of Dirk's cock up against his stomach. Dave mouths his way up the shaft from the base, fleeting kisses from his lips and a light lick from his tongue, the tantalizing stimulation setting his brother to squirm beneath him. Dave decides he quite likes being a tease, and sets to licking and sucking at his balls, rhythmically stroking his taint and around his ass with his fingers.

"Just put it in your mouth, fuck," Dirk admonishes breathlessly, evidently not having learned any patience after all.

So Dave relents, though not without shooting the kid a _look_. With a fist wrapped around the base, he envelops the head of Dirk's cock and swirls his tongue — Dave sputters and gags when the younger boy bucks his hips a bit too enthusiastically.

"Fuck, bro, cool it."

"Sorry — whatever — ah, just keep going."

Dave sighs. Take two: this time the kid manages to contain himself, and the going's much smoother. He takes in the length in as far as it will go and gives it a good stroke of his tongue before working up a steady rhythm, pumping the shaft with his fist in time with the motions of his head.

Dirk's fingers find their way into Dave's hair and tangle themselves there; the kid starts to take control again, forcing Dave to take it deeper and faster, and then precum is coating his tongue and it tastes so _good_ and _fuck_ Dave has never been more rock hard in his life.

Then Dave can feel it throbbing in his mouth and he's sure he's about come, and he's fucking _eager_ to have it fill his mouth and swallow it down, _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ , but at the last minute Dirk's hands are pulling him away and up and crushing their lips together and probing inside his mouth with his tongue and Dave just wants to eat his brother _alive_.

This time it's Dirk who has to struggle to break free. "I want you to fuck me," he gasps out, heavy and hot, and his breath hitches in his throat when Dave hungrily licks and sucks and bites at his neck.

"Yeah?" Dave asks, in between a nip at Dirk's jaw. He pointedly grinds his own still-clothed erection against his brother's, who arches his back and rakes Dave's shoulders with his blunt nails.

"Yeah," Dirk echoes breathlessly. "Just let me — ahh, _fuck_ —" Dave rocks his hips again. "— _fuck_ , bro — okay, hold on, stop, for a second — _uhf_." Dirk finally just shoves him off, and as he scrambles over to root through the pile of puppets at the head of the bed, Dave tears his own pants the fuck off.

Dave isn't sure what the hell he's digging for in there, but he definitely notices the kid's _choice ass_ as he's bent over a pillow with his thighs splayed apart, and it's all he can do to stop himself from just —

Actually, why is he stopping himself?

Even Dirk seems genuinely shocked when Dave grabs him by the hips and roughly drags him back and just buries his face into his ass, as the strangled cry that escapes his throat attests. "Wha— _fuck_ — yes, you're starting to get it —" Then his tongue is stroking along his taint, tracing the ring of muscle, pressing inside with urgency — Dave has never eaten out an ass and has never wanted to except now he suddenly _really does_ and Dirk is writhing beneath him and pushing up into his face with his breath racing a mile a minute and Dave feels like he's close to blow without even having _touched_ himself.

Then neither of them can stand it any longer, and as Dave is crawling his way up his body Dirk is twisting around to lie on his back.

"Do you have any—"

Dave is interrupted by a tube of lube being shoved into his hand. That answers what he was looking for in there.

"Start with your fingers, and make sure —"

"I've done _this_ before," Dave interjects, still unavoidably incredulous at the concept of his fifteen year old kid brother schooling him at sex. Dirk huffs superciliously, but lifts a leg nonetheless. Dave settles a bit off to Dirk's side, propping himself up by his elbow; he uncaps the tube and squeezes far more than he has to onto his fingers and palm, and Dirk seems to somehow manage to look particularly exasperated about the waste, but that's quickly chased away when Dave reaches his hand down between them and slips a slicked finger into his ass.

Dirk immediately pushes into the touch, the sigh escaping his throat sounding spectacularly relieved. Dave works rapidly, inserting a second finger as soon as he's sure the kid can take it, and then a third, scissoring them out and curling them up and driving them as deep as they'll go. Dirk is clinging to him and rocking his hips in time with his thrusts, and it's not long before he's practically begging for it.

"Do it. Now. Do it, do it, do it."

Dave is more than happy to oblige, withdrawing his fingers and coating his own dick with his liberally slicked palm. He clambers into place on top of Dirk, who immediately hooks his legs around Dave's waist and presses against his ass with his heels; their cocks slide together and the both of them are awkwardly scrambling to guide Dave in, hands knocking, but Dave bats him away and readies it at his entrance and then _fuck_ he's pushing inside, at first slowly but then Dave can't fucking take any of that and _thrusts, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_. Dirk shudders beneath him and bites his shoulder and scratches his back and Dave is still for all of a moment before the kid makes it damn clear he doesn't need to wait for him to be ready, _just go_.

So Dave fucking _goes_. He resolves to start out easy but that goes straight out the fucking window, and by the second stroke he's driving it in as hard and deep and fast as he can go. His brother's ass is so impossibly slick and tight that every time he rocks forward it feels like he's being sucked in, and pulling out is almost a _struggle_ with the way he clenches his muscles around Dave's dick, and Jesus fucking _Christ_ nothing has ever felt so fucking _incredible_. The kid starts making this _sound_ , and it's obvious he's fucking playing it up, but he's breathing it right into Dave's ear and Dave can't fucking _handle_ it, he shivers and falters for just a moment, but Dirk won't stand for a second's pause. 

Then he's flipping Dave over, pushing him down onto the mattress when he struggles. His cock slips out and the both of them seem to be practically driven mad, Dave rocking his hips to try to push back in but only manages to slide between the cheeks of the kid's ass. Dirk lifts himself up and reaches his hand back to guide it back inside, and then he's sinking back down around his cock, and _Jesus fuck how is it even possible to be that tight_. The kid works up a rhythm, rocking up with his fingers braced against Dave's stomach until the head nearly pops out and then slides back down to the hilt. He picks up the moaning again, this time unnecessarily loud, practically taunting Dave with his eyes as he does it.

"F-fuck, keep it down, everyone in the fucking building is going to hear you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. He leans back on one of his hands, the other wrapped around his own cock, arching his back to stretch his body into full display. He pitches up louder and louder until he's seriously fucking _screaming_ , "Fuck yes, bro, I love your cock," and _fuck someone is going to call the fucking cops_ , so Dave lurches up, trying to push him onto his back and silence the kid with his lips. Dirk kisses back hungrily, sucking at Dave's lips so hard they'll bruise, but refuses to cede control; they clumsily fight one another, tossing and turning across the bed, until the both of them topple off the edge to the floor.

Dirk tries to scramble across the ground for purchase, but Dave is too fast, pinning his brother prone to the floor with the weight of his body, trapping his wrists beside his head. Dirk seems to have realized when he's been beat, as he angles his hips and pushes back up against Dave's cock. "Get it back in, already, don't keep me waiting," he says, words punctuated by shallow gasps for breath.

Dave slides back inside with one fluid motion, freeing Dirk's wrists to better support his weight against the floor. Soon Dave settles into a rapid pace, the full weight of his body behind every thrust. Dave notices Dirk trying to awkwardly wedge his hand between his own body and the floor, but with Dave practically pressed down on top of his back he can't get it under; Dave hoists him up so that the kid's hips are sufficiently lifted off the ground to slip his own hand around to wrap around his cock, pumping in time with his motions.

The genuine breathy gasps that Dave earns each time he thrusts are a great deal more pleasant to listen to than the manufactured porn star cacophony. There's a particular spot that seems to provoke the greatest response, so Dave angles his hips to stroke it again and again, and before long Dirk is biting his lip and writhing beneath him and pushing up as if all the way weren't nearly deep enough. The sight of his brother so at his mercy gets Dave terribly flustered and his thrusts and the motions of his hand grow erratic and out of time, and _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he's getting close.

Dirk seems to notice, as he rasps out, "Ah, fuck, _yes_ , inside me, do it, _fuck_ —" and it sends Dave over the fucking edge, shallowly snapping his hips as he comes, Dirk clenching his muscles around his dick for the most intense fucking orgasm of his life. The kid isn't far behind; Dave leaves his softening dick inside as he rapidly jerks at Dirk's cock and before long he's gasping and spilling onto the floor.

Dave pulls out and collapses on his back on the floor, exhausted and panting as he stares at the ceiling. Dirk comes to lay beside him, hands splayed across his own stomach, and both are quiet but for the sound of their heavy breathing.

"Jesus Christ, bro, how many guys have you fucked?" Dave awkwardly asks after a time, far more of his concern bleeding through than he intended to betray. Dirk doesn't miss it, and coyly laughs it off.

"You know, most people would be _happy_ about getting a good ride and leave it at that."

"Forgive me if I'm a bit worried when I discover my fifteen year old kid brother fucks like a thousand dollar whore."

"Oh, where to _begin_ with that one. ' _Only_ a thousand?' 'Gosh, bro, you must know a lot about hookers to pinpoint my price range'? I simply can't decide."

Dave pointedly ignores his deflection, sitting up a bit on his elbows to look at Dirk. "Really, dude. What have you been _doing?_ I know I'm clean, but are _you?_ "

Dirk finally deigns to give a straight answer, but not without being certain that his expression and tone convey as much exasperation as he can muster. "If you _must_ know, not many. Any, really. Was always easier to just... do it myself."

It takes Dave a moment.

"You have _sex_ with your _robots?_ "

"Oh, _come on_. Did you _honestly_ ever believe that the very first thing I made wasn't a sexbot?"

Dave makes a disgusted face. "Ugh, why did I ask — did _not_ want to know —"

A teasing smirk. "Considering you literally _just fucked me in the ass_ , I think we're a little far past the whole 'daddy scandalized by junior having a sex drive' thing."

... Aaaand there comes the guilt, all rushing back at once. 

Dave flops back to the floor on his back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, exhaling laboriously.

"... Fuck, what did I just do?"

"If I recall correctly, you jacked me off, blew me, ate my ass, and then drilled me so hard I'll have trouble walking for a week. I'd say what you did was do me a fuckin' _favor_."

Dave turns his head to look at his brother, eyebrows knit. "You don't... you don't regret it?"

Dirk laughs like he'd just heard the funniest thing in the world. "Are you fuckin' _kidding_ me?" He lazily reaches his arm over to Dave, brushing against his cheek with his fingertips. His smile is warm and genuine. "Nah. It was great. Really great, I mean it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Dave knows that shouldn't make him feel any better about it, but it sort of does. Part of him half expected the kid to turn into some weeping traumatized child despite all his aggressions, but it seems like it doesn't quite work that way. He releases the breath he was holding and turns his gaze back to the ceiling, pensive.

Then Dirk gets up and steps over Dave to pick his shades up off the desk, setting them on his face. He proceeds to stand there, presumably doing _something_ on them.

"What are you doing?" Dave asks, sitting up.

The kid looks over his shoulder down at his brother, his smile slight and coy. "Three days."

"What?"

"Three days. That's how long it took me to get you to give it up."

 _Oh Jesus_. Framed from that perspective, Dave suddenly feels like a horrific fool. Was it really that short a time? It felt like weeks.

"Wow, thanks, rub it in my face. That's great. I appreciate it so much."

"The AR thought it would take me at least a month, but I bet him I could do it in a week. It looks like we both underestimated our irresistability."

Dave is incredulous, and more than a little angry. "This was a _bet?_ "

"Oh, no. I wanted to do it anyway. The bet just sort of corporealized as a consequence of us arguing about it. Incidental, really."

Dave clambers to his feet and begins gathering his clothes off the floor, glaring daggers at his brother. "Sweet. That's not utterly humiliating at all."

"Oh, stop that," Dirk says with a roll of his eyes, setting his shades back down on the desk. He knocks the clothes out of Dave's hands and roughly pushes him onto the bed. "It's like 3:00 AM and I'm exhausted as dick. It's time for you to play body pillow, bro."

"No, dude," Dave says, moving to get back up. "For one, I'm pissed as hell at you, and two, I'm not ti—"

"Too bad," Dirk interrupts as he crawls in next to Dave, shoving him back down onto the bed. "I did it for you, now it's your turn. Shut up."

Dave sighs.


	6. Chapter 6

As the minutes tick by into hours, Dave has more time to think than he wants or knows what to do with.

Dirk was quick to drift off to sleep, but the vice grip with which he clung to Dave hadn't relented. His head remains pillowed against Dave's shoulder, an arm and a leg both thrown over his body. Dave stares up at the ceiling as the darkness slowly recedes into the corners of the room, chased away by the soft light of dawn.

It doesn't really hit him until he hazards a glance back down at his brother. With his eyes lightly shut and his lips slightly parted in peaceful sleep, untarnished by the insolent smirk or jaded steely gaze that paint him as a boy well beyond his years, Dave sees as if for the first time just how young he actually is. The guilt spreads through him in rolling waves with each slow, steady breath that ghosts across his skin.

Extricating himself is an ordeal; when Dave tries to slip out from underneath him, Dirk grumbles in his sleep and digs his fingers, surprisingly painfully, into his side, refusing to let go. Dave has to deliberately pry his brother's arm off from around him so he can sit up, legs off the edge of the bed.

He looks back over his shoulder at Dirk, who seems to have settled contentedly on his stomach in his absence. He reaches back to pull the cover up over the kid's shoulders, as if hiding his bared skin would sweep what happened under the rug.

Dave is careful to remain silent as he gets up off the bed. He gropes across the floor, collecting his strewn clothes; he can't help but cast fretful glances over to the bed as he dresses. 

He opens the door only as much as he needs to slip his body through and closes it behind him as quietly as he can. On the balls of his feet, he makes his way across the hall to the bathroom and pushes inside. 

Dave stands before the toilet, staring down into the bowl.

His stomach roils. He feels a weight in his chest and a sickness at the back of his throat and a dizziness that threatens to bring him to his knees, but nothing ever quite comes. He wants to retch, feels like he _should_ retch, like it's the least he fucking owes the world for what he just did, but the nausea never goes that far. Eyes glassy, Dave waits.

Eventually he gets to his knees and shoves his fingers into his mouth. He isn't sure whether it's the pressure at the back of his throat or the fact he can still taste his brother on his fingers that pushes him over the edge.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flushes the toilet.

Slowly and unsteadily, Dave climbs to his feet. He catches himself when his legs threaten to give, hands gripped painfully tight on the edges of the bathroom sink. His gaze trains itself fast on the drain, never daring to glance up.

Turning the tap of the sink is a struggle as his fingers tremble fitfully. When he thrusts his hands under the faucet, the water is searingly hot on his skin, but he does not recoil. He rubs his hands together until the flesh is red and raw, and when he shuts the water back off, the burning ache lingers as a constant remembrance. Rather than reaching for a towel, he gingerly shakes the water off his hands.

He feels like a zombie when he steps out of the bathroom into the hallway. The closed door to Dirk's room is an enormity before him, looming in its inanimate stillness. He looks to his right to the living room door, and is more paralyzed by indecision than he knows he should be.

After what feels like an eternity, Dave makes his way into the living room, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him.

He gets his laptop off the counter and settles onto the futon. His fingers feel tight and the motions hurt as he boots it up and strikes the keys.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

TG: i fucked up   
TT: I know.   
TG: what   
TT: I've been keeping my eye on you since we last discussed this.   
TG: ugh  
TG: no  
TG: lalonde why  
TG: you watched  
TG: god dammit  
TG: that shit is creepy as hell  
TG: can you not  
TG: just dont ever   
TT: I am aware of your stance on my vision omnifold.  
TT: I am also incurably nosy.   
TG: ill fucking say   
TT: At any rate, we should have this conversation by another means.  
TT: Pick me up from the airport at nine o'clock.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TG: wait what  
TG: fuck

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

*

Dave is at the airport by eight, and Lalonde's plane doesn't touch down until ten.

He almost doesn't recognize her when he meets her at the gate. Her hair is covered by a light, lilac scarf, and a pair of massive reflective aviators take up most of her face. She even opted to forgo her signature black lipstick, leaving her mouth looking unfamiliarly naked. The rest of her ensemble is standard issue, but not remarkable enough to warrant her having changed — she wears a plain, short sleeved purple blouse with a pinched waist over a knee-length black pencil skirt, dark sheer stockings and modestly heeled Mary Janes.

As he feels a chill descend around him, Dave slips back on his shades.

"Sup," he says, hands thrust into his pants pockets. He didn't bother to change out of yesterday's suit, shirt rumpled and untucked and sans tie, though he manages to make his dishevelment look deliberate.

"Take those off," Rose chides. "It's more difficult for me to turn the onlookers away when you're so purposefully conspicuous."

Dave shoots a glance around the terminal; indeed, it seems every head in the airport is looking anywhere _but_ at them. Begrudgingly, he takes them off and puts them away in his breast pocket. She notices his burned hands, but says nothing. "Are you happy now?"

Rose's smile is artificially sweet and mocking. "Yes, very. Shall we?" She offers Dave her elbow, and he slips his arm through hers without hesitation.

Dave walks her out to the car, both of them reticent and neither of them inclined to look at the other as they go. When they arrive, Dave opens the passenger side door for her with a flourish.

"M'lady," he says; Rose rolls her eyes as she slides into the car and shuts the door on her own. He walks around to the other side and gets in himself, putting back on his shades the moment he does.

"Drive."

And so Dave drives, to nowhere in particular. His nerves are on edge and his stomach is uneasy. It's a while until Rose breaks the silence.

"I do hope you understand the implications of what you've done, and the potential consequences that will arise of it ever going public."

"Don't think I don't," Dave says, his teeth grit painfully together.

"Then why would you do it?"

"Because I'm an idiot, and weak, and a man. And fuck it, because he's so god damn obstinate and couldn't take no for an answer."

"You can't blame him for this. He's fifteen."

Dave's head snaps over to glare at Rose, who flinches near imperceptibly as he swerves on the road. He quickly looks back ahead, exhaling through his teeth. "Lalonde, you don't know him. He's not some innocent little baby. If he doesn't have the cognizant capability to consent and own at least _some_ of the fucking responsibility for this shitpile, neither do most fucking _brain surgeons._ "

Rose hesitates before she replies, each word carefully chosen and deliberate. "He may be very intelligent, but it doesn't mean he's emotionally ready to deal with a sexual relationship with a man more than twice his age, let alone an incestuous one with a high-profile public figure," she says, as measured and gentle as she can manage.

"Fuck if he's not," Dave spits, growing fervid with frustration until his hands are trembling on the wheel. He makes a sharp turn into a park, stops the car in the lot, and gets out with a histrionic slam of the door. He takes off in the direction of the nearby baseball field and throws his weight and his anger onto its fence when he gets there, fingers woven through the chain links. The metal digs painfully into his raw skin.

Rose comes to stand quietly next to him at the fence after a time, and Dave for once is the one wishing he could see behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

"He's not a victim," Dave says, his voice quiet and hollow. He stares out onto the empty baseball field, focusing on little else but avoiding Rose's judgmental gaze.

"He's a minor," Rose replies delicately. "Regardless of the circumstances, you've crossed a line. Legally, if not morally. And I still urge you to consider this matter carefully, and not consign the responsibility entirely."

Dave turns his back to the fence and slides down to take a seat on the grass, probably soiling his good pants. Rose sits herself beside him, more mindful of her skirt.

"I know that. But I did it. It's done. I can't take it back." 

The woman gently places her hand on his back.

"I have no fucking idea what to do. I can't be around him, since let's be fucking honest, I'm going to do it again. I can't just _dump_ him, 'cause he'd probably fucking dial the tabloids just to spite me. I can't — fuck, I'm just _fucked_." Dave's breath is ragged. He looks to Rose for an answer, but finds nothing.

"I... I don't know what to say," Lalonde replies after a time. "It isn't safe for you to tell anyone what you've done now that it's gone this far."

Dave places his face in his hands and lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Would you like me to take him?" Rose proffers. "I know he's friends with my daughter, and there's plenty of room in our estate for his projects. I'm sure he would be happy there."

Dave laughs, more disdainfully than he'd intended. "Nah, he'd just take that as an insult and try to find some way to get back at me."

A stillness stretches between them, both at a loss for helpful words.

Rose purses her lips pensively before she speaks, "Well, let me speak with him, at the very least. My return flight is not for some time."

"... All right. We can do that. I guess."

*

Dave opens the door to the apartment, letting Rose walk through.

As he steps in after her and carefully closes the door behind him, he takes note of how her eyes sweep the room and linger on all the haphazardly strewn puppets and broken robots.

"Nice place you have here," Rose drawls, taking off her sunglasses and scarf to set them aside on the counter.

Dave shrugs. "I tell him to clean up and he doesn't listen. Whatever, not my problem."

The woman's eyebrows raise in a look that's almost certainly meant to say "you're a shitty parent", but Dave's poker face holds strong behind his shades. Eventually she rolls her eyes and gives up, folding her hands in front of herself. "So. Where is the child?"

" _The child_ ," Dave echoes, drawing out the word sardonically. "Is in his bedroom, probably still asleep. He got to bed late last —"

Dave catches himself when Rose gives him yet another equally poignantly scathing look, and this time he _is_ more than a little embarrassed.

"Uh... just go wake him up, I guess. I'll just... stay out here."

"Yes, I think that's for the best." 

Rose sets her sights on the hallway door and strides towards it, her expression steeled and determined. As Dave watches her disappear and close the door behind herself, he does not envy his brother.

Now alone in the room, Dave realizes how tired he is. He suppresses a yawn, resolving to push through the fatigue to get his sleep cycle back on track. Now in need of something to distract himself with, he rummages around in the kitchen; he gives a cursory scan of all the garbage he bought and almost amuses himself when he decides he'd just rather have Cheetos instead.

He flops down onto the couch, immediately regretting it as the remote digs painfully into his back (it seems Dirk had found it at some point, at least). After pulling it out from underneath him, he turns on the TV and listlessly watches an infomercial about collectible silverware sets with the volume on low while he eats the Cheetos.

While he's certainly curious as to what exactly Lalonde has to say to Dirk, he knows she would likely be able to tell instantly were he to make any attempt to eavesdrop, and so he simply stares ahead with bored, glassy eyes. The minutes drag on, and it's not until the electricity in the apartment flickers that Dave looks over his shoulder to the hallway; a darkness seems to radiate paradoxically from the crack under the door, and suddenly he doesn't even _want_ to know anymore.

Rose emerges into the living room not long after, a deathly look in her eyes that unnerves even Dave when it falls upon him. He shuts off the TV and stands up as Rose collects her things off the counter, looking back to the door when Dirk appears in its frame; the kid's hair looks even more ridiculous than usual, stood up on end to match his equally shell-shocked expression. He catches Dave's pitying look and shrugs.

"Drive me back to the airport?" Rose says, purposefully ignoring Dirk to stare at Dave. She makes it sound like a question, but it's obviously anything but.

*

Dave keeps Rose company at the terminal as they wait for her plane to arrive, figuring that it's something to keep him awake. They catch up on some things and commiserate over their shared revulsion towards airport food, and bid each other farewell when she boards. Dave keeps his head down and his shades off as he walks back to his car, wary once he can no longer enjoy the obscurity of Lalonde's obfuscations.

He arrives back at the apartment by the afternoon and finds Dirk sprawled out on the futon, the TV off; Dave presumes he's screwing with his glasses and moves to drop his keys on the counter.

"Sup, kid."

"Hey."

"You hungry?"

"Nah. I ate."

Dave looks around the kitchen. It doesn't look like he even took anything. "What did you eat?"

"Stuff."

Dave sighs, giving up. Dirk remains motionless where he lay, staring up at the ceiling, or whatever garbage he's running on his shades. Dave wanders over to stand over the futon; the kid raises an eyebrow when he does.

"What did you guys talk about?" Dave asks, trying to sound less curious than he actually is.

"Stuff."

Dave looks down at him, annoyed. He seems to be in one of _those_ moods. "What is the definition of stuff."

"Things and shit."

"..."

When Dave doesn't move from where he stands, Dirk groans and sits up. "We talked about my _feeeelings_. It was all very heartwarming, aside from the part where she decided it was necessary to go Gandalf on my ass and ruin my hair."

"... That's what you're mad about? Your hair?"

"Fuck you, such an impeccable coiffure takes effort to maintain. I'm not about to let just anybody mess it up."

Dave folds his arms over his chest. "That's all you took away from that."

"What happened to your hands?" the kid asks, having caught a glimpse of Dave's reddened skin. 

Shifting his arms to hide the worst of the burns, Dave scowls and deflects his deflection. "Nothing. Stop evading the subject."

"Well," Dirk says, standing up from his seat to walk around the futon. He approaches Dave, who warily takes a step back towards the door. "She also made it very clear that I absolutely must never, ever do something like _this_ again." His arms shoot out to box Dave in against the wall, looming close. Dave's eyes blow wide, a fact that is revealed when Dirk pries his shades from his face and sets them, along with his own, haphazardly aside.

Dave tries to break free when he catches his sense, but Dirk is quick to pin him with his weight, leaning down to kiss and lick at his brother's neck. "Dirk, _stop_ ," Dave growls, but Dirk steadfastly ignores him.

As the kid rubs his body against his crotch, Dave finds his conviction wavering. His next protest is considerably less forceful. "We can't keep doing this, this is fucked up," he says, now struggling half-heartedly at best when Dirk's hands move to trap his wrists against the door.

Dirk hums as he draws his tongue along Dave's neck, earning a begrudging shudder and a now patently apparent erection. "But that's half the fun."

Dirk weaves his fingers through his and squeezes tenderly. Pain shoots through Dave's hands and he grimaces; the kid responds by tightening his grip, digging his fingernails into his brother's raw skin.

"That fucking hurts," Dave grits out. He can feel Dirk grin against his neck.

"Then let go," he whispers.

So Dave lets go.

Dirk slowly releases his hands, fingers trailing down his palms — giving him plenty of opportunity to escape, practically taunting him to — until his grip resettles tight around his brother's wrists, a gesture both of them know is more for Dave's conscience than any practical purpose.

The kid leans in to brush his lips against his brother's, still until Dave passively parts his own to let him know to take control. And so he does, teasing Dave's lower lip between his teeth, pulling it into his mouth to suck, running his tongue over it and behind it to thrust into his mouth; Dave reluctantly grows more responsive, kissing back with need. Dirk's hands slip away from his wrists to grip his shoulders, and Dave's own guiltily find their way to his brother's hips.

Dirk breaks away from his mouth to trail kisses along his cheek and jaw. "I want you to give yourself to me," he breathes into Dave's ear, hand now wedged between them to palm his erection through his pants.

"W-what?"

He snorts, slipping his hand down to cup Dave's balls and squeeze. It earns him a sharp intake of breath. "I want to fuck your ass, dumb shit."

"No way," Dave grouses, squirming against Dirk's pinning weight. "My ass is strictly exit only, thanks."

"That's hardly fair. I let _you_ fuck _me_."

"Not gonna happen. Now let me go."

Dirk catches the lobe of Dave's ear between his teeth, sneaking his hand underneath the waistband of his brother's pants to wrap his fingers around his dick. Dave arches up into the kid's touch despite himself. "I think it will," Dirk says, coy. "Look at how bad you want me. I could make you do anything."

"I don—"

"You do." Dirk begins to pump Dave's cock in his fist, a tantalizingly slow rhythm. "You're, like, my _slave_. My _fuckpuppet_."

Dave groans audibly, but whether it's from the horrible puppet joke or the quickening pace of the kid's motions isn't clear. "Just... just no."

"Then stop me."

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words catch in his throat as Dirk tightens his grip and _jerks_ , quickly now, and he digs his fingers painfully into the wall behind him.

"See, you can't. You don't even want to." His hand stops, now pressing Dave's cock up against his stomach, firm but tortuously still. "And that's just my hand. Man, I'm just imagining all the stuff I could get you to do if I had my mouth around you." He withdraws his hand from Dave's pants and runs both of them up the front of his torso, rucking up his shirt, and buries his face in the crook of his neck, biting and sucking at the skin hard enough to mark several times over. The kid grinds his crotch against Dave's, his own erection plainly evident. "Shit, I can feel what just thinkin' about that is doing to you. Do you want me to suck your cock, bro?"

Dave is careful to look anywhere but at his brother. "I..."

"Tell me you want me to suck your cock."

"Y-yeah," Dave practically squeaks.

"What was that? That didn't sound like what I asked."

"I — I want — fuck, kid, just — _god_ —"

"Good enough," Dirk laughs, grabbing Dave by the wrist to pull him over to the futon. "You're lucky I'm feeling impatient." He roughly shoves Dave down onto the seat, the unupholstered armrest digging painfully into his back, and immediately straddles his waist. Dirk grabs his brother by the lapels of his jacket and hauls him up, his mouth back on his as hungrily as ever. Dave awkwardly grips Dirk's thighs for support, allowing himself to enjoy the savory taste of his spit and skin and the feel of his tongue aggressively probing into his mouth.

Then Dirk suddenly releases Dave and sits back. When his gaze returns to his brother's flushed face, his eyes are searing and dark with lust. "Take off your clothes," he barks assertively, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Then get off. Not exactly easy to do when you're sitting right on fucking top of me."

Dirk shifts himself off to release his brother, watching alertly. With a sigh, Dave uncomfortably sits himself up to shrug off his jacket; when the article is discarded on the floor, he settles back to begin working at the buttons of his shirt, Dirk's hawk-like gaze uncomfortably intense as he sits still, hands resting on his own knees. Shifting and twisting, he gets his shirt off as well, torso bared.

Dave moves his hands down to push off his pants, but Dirk's impatience gets the better of him — suddenly he's on top of Dave, lips and fingers on his skin. Dirk's teeth find his nipple and... _oh_. That's something. His tongue flicks out to encircle the nub, then presses broad and wet against it, dragging up, and Dave _shudders_. He bites his lip when the kid pinches the other between his fingers, rubs his thumb over it, begins to _suck_ — Dave is all but writhing when he switches sides.

"You like that, huh?" Dirk muses, breath hot against his skin. "You're so worked up over _this_ , I got no idea how you'll even _handle_ all the other stuff I'm gonna do to you." His mouth breaks away from Dave's nipple to kiss down his stomach, fingers lightly trailing his sides as he shifts lower, until he comes to a stop just above his pants.

Dirk's eyes flit up to meet Dave's, as if drinking in his confused apprehension and lust like ambrosia. His fingers hook underneath the band of his pants and he's pulling them down, Dave eagerly kicking his legs to help them off, and then he is left laying bare beneath his brother.

Dirk is apparently adamantly determined to be a tease, as he kisses his way along the insides of Dave's thighs, rubbing and licking and setting Dave to shiver and and push up into his face.

"Damn, you really want it," the kid lilts. He brings his mouth within an inch of Dave's dick and more than a little sadistically blows out a cool puff of air, Dave squirming and biting his lip uncomfortably. "You have such a nice cock." He wraps his fist around the base and flicks out his tongue to lick across the slit, swallowing down the gathering precum. "Mm. Tastes nice, too." He presses his lips against the tip and _sucks_ , slurping out any of the fluid lingering past the opening. Finally, Dirk has mercy, wrapping his lips around it to take it in.

The kid knows how to use his tongue. It hungrily massages his shaft in time with the motions of his mouth and fist, and with each bob of his head he takes it further and further into his mouth until... _oh god_. Dirk uncurls his fingers and shifts them under to cup Dave's balls, and he can feel it push past the back of his mouth into his throat. Soon the kid's nose is buried in his curls and he looks supremely pleased with himself.

Dave stares, not quite sure how to feel about that. "Just great, my fifteen year old kid can deep throat."

Dirk withdraws, lips popping wetly on the head; when he speaks, his voice is a bit raspy and strained. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Jesus, that was _terri_ — _oh god_."

The kid sinks back down, taking it all the way again. This time he begins to move, drawing up and then down again, his throat tight and hot around Dave's cock. As his lips slide down to the hilt he pauses, and then he... _Jesus_ , he starts to _hum_ , vibrating in his throat around him.

"The fuck, kid," Dave breathes out. He grows increasingly disconcerted with how fucking _good_ he is at this — _does he spend all god damn day blowing his robots? What the hell._ "You're a fuckin' weirdo." 

Dirk pulls back again, eyebrow raised. "The hell did I do?"

"You're fifteen. At least have the decency to be worse at this than I am."

"Blah blah blah," Dirk sighs as he reaches back to fish something out of his back pocket. Dave is immediately apprehensive, furrowing his brow.

"What are you —" He's got the lube out again; he was prepared for this, apparently. "Uh, no, kid, I told you, I am _not_ —" Dirk brusquely disregards his brother's protestations, shoving him right back down when he tries to sit up. He moves quickly to uncap the tube and squeeze it onto his fingers before sliding one inside. " _Oh my god._ "

"Stop whining. You'll be begging me for my cock before we're done, I promise."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Dave deadpans, but relents nonetheless when Dirk's dips down between his legs, lips returning to envelope the head of his dick. " _Fuck._ "

Dirk blows him in time with the motions of his hand; as his head sinks down, he drives his finger in to the knuckle, then back out again as he rises. It's a very, very strange feeling, but the wet heat of his brother's mouth around him is certainly very nice.

He slips a second finger in, pushing in and scissoring out. Even with just the the two, Dave already feels uncomfortably full; when he adds the third, it begins to border on painful.

"Slow down," Dave frets, awkwardly clawing the cushion of the seat with his hands. 

Dirk withdraws from his dick and gives him this exasperated look which is ridiculous because it's not like he's ever _done_ this before, a little damn _patience_ wouldn't hurt, and then _oh god_ he puts a fourth one in _what the fuck_.

"I'm fuckin' horny, I don't want to spend all day pampering your delicate virgin flower of an ass before I can get off."

"I take it back. You're not good at this. You are the absolute worst at this."

That seemed to have wounded his pride; the kid groans dramatically but withdraws a finger nonetheless, working to stretch him at a slower, gentler pace. When he slips the fourth back in, the going's a bit smoother, if still considerably discomforting.

"You think that's enough?" he asks, still working his fingers in and out at an easy pace.

"I don't fucking know," Dave snaps. He's starting to lose his erection. "I haven't fucking had a dick up my ass before. I didn't even want to do this in the first place."

Dirk sighs, pulling his fingers out. Dave watches with a mix of apprehension and dread as the kid sits back to hastily and clumsily strip; his impatience affects all of his movements. When he realizes that he forgot to kick his shoes off before he pushed down his pants, his flustered discombobulation actually makes him look his age, for once. It's an ambivalent observation.

He also certainly wasn't kidding about being horny. The kid's throbbing and hard as a rock as he sits back up on the futon; while it doesn't manage to quell his reluctance entirely, the sight makes Dave a bit more venturesome about continuing.

Dirk overdoes it on the lube for Dave's peace of mind, who bites his lip as he watches his brother's slicked hand run over his own cock. He hesitantly draws up his knees, and Dirk shifts them back to hook Dave's legs over his shoulders as he readies himself at the entrance. Dave stares between his own legs, stood at an embarrassingly nervous precipice.

Dirk pushes the head inside, and _fuck_ , even with all of the lube and preparation it's a stretch and it feels fifty times bigger inside than it looks. Dave is virtually hyperventilating as it slowly sinks deeper in, and when the kid starts to pull back out again, he feels like he's being turned inside out.

"Stop, it's too much — I can't — _fuck_ —"

"Relax," Dirk coos, voice soft. "You're just making it harder for yourself getting so worked up."

Dirk sits still as Dave tries to calm his nerves, steadying his breathing as best he can. He releases the tension in his body, hands splayed out over his own lifted thighs. "Yeah, okay," Dave says, but the words come out just as unsure as he feels.

When Dirk starts to move again, it slides in a bit more easily, but it's not any less overwhelming. He goes a bit further than the last stroke before he pulls back out again, and Dave sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"You are such a big baby," the kid laughs, stilled again with just the head left inside.

"Oh, _forgive me_ fo— _mmpf_ —"

Dirk shuts him up with his mouth as he drives back in, his whole body behind the thrust, pushing Dave's knees up by his ears. Dave breaks away from his lips to gasp for breath, blathering incoherently, " _Fffffffuuuuuuucckkkking_ FUCK, Dirk, _fuck_. Oh my _god_ , you _fuck_."

Dirk laughs softly against his cheek. "You'll live, bro." He waits, sheathed to the hilt, as Dave's erratic breaths slow and even out. Then, he whispers, "You ready?"

"I guess. Yeah. You can... yeah, okay." Dave nervously wets his lips.

The kid begins to rock, slow and steady, brushing his lips against Dave's with each forward thrust. The position is claustrophic and suffocating but intimate, a weird and warm frisson spreading through Dave's chest each time his brother kisses him. The worst of the friction is gone; Dirk's cock slides smoothly in and out and it doesn't _hurt_ anymore, but the sensation is foreign and uncomfortable and Dave isn't entirely sure he particularly _likes_ it.

Dave is about to smugly say as much when the kid shifts the angle of his stroke and — oh. _Oh._

"Oh _god_ what was that," Dave sputters breathlessly, curling his toes.

Dirk practically _giggles_. "I told you, bro."

"Do that again."

His brother is eager to oblige, and he picks up the pace with rolling snaps of his hips, careful to strike that spot each time. Dave is feverish, awkwardly clawing at Dirk's arms and rocking up his body to meet every thrust. "Fuck, oh god, Dirk, this — oh _god_." 

"You love my huge stallion cock, huh," Dirk mutters against lips at the end of a deep stroke.

Dave makes a disgusted face. "Okay, you are n—" He gasps when Dirk pulls out and slams back in again. "— you are not going to — _fffuck_ —" Again. "— to keep bringing up horses while we're having sex. This stops _now_."

The kids breaks out a disturbingly lifelike nicker and Dave shudders. " _Wow_ , that is the exact opposite of sexy, I will fucking _write you out of my will_ if you ever do that again."

Dirk stills and raises his eyebrows, staring Dave in the face with mock surprise. "Oh? You won't mind I stop, then?" he says, leaning back to withdraw.

Dave reflexively grabs out to get a hold onto any part of Dirk and keep him inside, eyes gone wide. "Fuck no, you're not gonna stop," he pants, urgent. "Put it back in."

That smirk is bad news. "You hurt my feelings. You'll have to convince me."

"W-what?"

"I _told_ you I'd make you beg for my cock, and I meant it. So beg."

Dave lets loose a bark of derisive laughter. "Are you fucking kidding me? _Fuck_ no. Fuck you."

"Well, then," Dirk says, matter of fact, moving to pull out entirely.

"Wait, wait, don't—" Dave blurts out despite himself, the deprivation of what is now that very, _very_ pleasant fullness pushing him past reason.

"What was that?" the sadistic shithead asks as he stops, only the head left inside.

Dave flops back down onto his back and covers his face with his hands, mortified. "I can't believe this. This isn't happening."

Dirk just snickers. Dave has never wanted to murder another human being more in his entire life.

"I'm waiting."

"Please. Fuck me, bro," Dave grits out, deadpan, the sound of his voice muffled behind his palms and dripping with barely concealed agitation.

"You'll have to do better than that."

" _Please_."

"Let me see your face."

"You're _serious,_ " Dave groans, dragging his hands down his face and then dropping them by his sides. His skin is flushed red with embarrassment, and knowing that Dirk can see that only worsens the issue. He still has to shut his eyes and turn his head to even manage to speak. "For the love of — _god,_ just — fuck — _please._ "

At that, Dirk begins to push back in, tantalizingly slow. "Oh god, _please,_ do it — _faster_ —" He's eager to comply, driving it deep. Dave just fucking gives up on dignity. " _Yes_ , fuck, _Dirk_ — fuck me, _please_ — oh _god_ , yes —" Before long Dirk is all but pounding him into the cushion of the seat, hard and fast, the pleasure building in a steady blur that rolls through his body and leaves him completely incoherent.

Then suddenly and far too soon, Dirk is pulling out again — he sits back on the futon, watching Dave with a supremely amused expression as he essentially flips out.

"Jesus fuck, why are you stopping again, don't make me—"

Dirk's eyes flit down to his crotch. "Do it yourself."

The urgency with which Dave climbs into his brother's lap would probably be pretty embarrassing if he gave anything approaching a fuck at this point. Bracing himself against Dirk's shoulders, he lowers himself down onto his length, shuddering when he's taken it all the way inside. Dirk grips Dave's ass in his hands, but otherwise leaves him to his own devices.

Dave takes a while to get his bearings, but eventually settles into a rhythm, sliding up and down on his brother's cock while he sits back and enjoys the ride. As Dave nears the peak, he tries to wrap his hand around his own cock — Dirk is quick to bat his hand away.

"Don't."

"But I can't —"

"Keep going. You'll get off when I let you."

"You are such a fucking dick," Dave grumbles, but resumes his motions nonetheless.

Though he certainly tries very hard, stroking his brother's cock against his prostate with each roll of his hips, he can't quite push himself to release with that alone. He teeters on the edge, his movements growing more quick and erratic with each passing moment, until his body is trembling from the denial and it's a struggle to even keep moving. Dirk thrusts upwards as Dave begins to falter, and it's clear he's getting close as well.

"Let m—"

Dave can't even finish his thought before Dirk takes his length into his hand and swiftly jerks, out of time with the urgent thrusts of his hips. Dave is coming within seconds, gasping and clinging to his brother's shoulders as he spills into his hand. Dirk finishes as Dave's peak is passing, arms wrapped around his back to hold him suffocatingly close while he shoots deep inside.

They remain slumped against each other for a time, spent and breathing heavily. Eventually, Dirk flops over to stretch out on the futon and drags Dave down with him, who is exhaustedly contented to rest his head against the kid's stomach. Dirk idly pets his brother's hair as they calm.

Dave exhales tiredly. " _Jesus_... I didn't know. Prostate exams weren't... weren't like that."

"That's why doctors are doctors and not hookers, dumbass."

"Oh, shut up."

Dirk laughs softly and resumes carding his fingers through Dave's hair; the sensation is relaxing, and Dave's eyes flutter shut.

He has half a mind to just doze off, but something uncomfortably impedes that. Dave breaks the silence with an awkward question. "What's exactly is the etiquette for dealing with jizz in your ass?"

"The hell would I know?"

"I did it to you. What did you do? I kinda want to just lay here but this feels nasty as hell."

Dave can feel him shift to shrug his shoulders. "I don't know, I liked it. I just went to sleep. Then I guess I went to the bathroom in the morning?"

"Eugh. This is really gross, when you think about it," Dave says, grimacing.

"Hence why I'm going to continue not thinking about it."

With a sigh, Dave awkwardly sits himself up. "I'm going to take a shower. You may as well just come with me."

"All right, whatever," Dirk says, standing up after his brother to follow him to the bathroom. With his ass both tremendously sore and unpleasantly sticky, Dave is forced into an awkward gate, something Dirk observes with great amusement. Dave shoots him a glare over his shoulder before he steps into the stall and turns on the water.

Dave sets to cleaning himself in earnest, but Dirk apparently decides to be a nagging distraction after he follows him inside. It's not long before Dave feels something conspicuously hard pressing up against his ass.

"... Are you serious? It's been like ten fucking minutes. How are you already hard again?"

Dirk wraps his arms around his brother from behind, pressing his lips against his shoulder. "I'm literally a fifteen year old boy, remember?"

Dave groans as he washes his hair, steadfastly ignoring the motions of Dirk's lips and hands on his skin. "People who aren't tiny little babies have a thing called a refractory period."

"It's your fault, being all naked and wet and sexy and shit. Take responsibility, bro."

"No. I'm tired and sore, fuck off with that thing."

"It's not like a dick has to go up somebody's ass every time we do it."

Dave stops to awkwardly half-twist around, shooting Dirk an incredulous look. "You're serious. You actually want to do this again."

The kid's eyes flit down at his crotch. "Signs point to yes."

"Ugh, fine. Do what you want, but I'm getting out when I'm done, whether you're finished or not," Dave says, grabbing to pick up the soap.

"Sure, whatever. Here, just put your legs together like — okay, good." 

Dave does his honest best to ignore his activities, but the sensation of his brother's cock sliding between his thighs and against his balls proves to be phenomenally distracting — even more so when the kid's hands travel south, grazing his softened length as they stroke and explore his body.

"Cut that out," Dave gripes, rubbing soap into his arms. Dirk, of course, takes that as an invitation to be an insolent little shit and take his cock into his fist.

"I guess you aren't so old after all," Dirk purrs against the back of Dave's neck, a low rumble that sends a shiver down his spine and a rush of blood to his groin. The kid somehow manages to avoid making a joke when he drops the soap.

Dave begrudgingly leans into his touch, gradually coming to life in his hand. "You're the worst, you know that," he remarks, but there's no venom to his voice. He can feel Dirk's mouth curl into a smirk against his skin.

Then at once Dirk is turning Dave around and shoving him up against the wall of the shower, aggressively crushing his mouth against his. Dave surges with adrenaline, his fatigue like a forgotten dream, fisting his fingers into his brother's hair and biting hungrily back at his lips. As Dave fervidly grinds his hips against Dirk, cocks sliding together and against each other's stomachs, the kid responds by slamming him hard against the tile; pain shoots through his back and he's sure it'll bruise, but it only seems to make him harder and his body shake with lust. He breaks away from Dirk's mouth to sink his teeth into his collar, which earns a gasp as Dirk ruts up against him. 

Dirk reaches between them to take both their cocks into his hand, jerking and pumping erratically fast. Dave thrusts along his brother's flesh with little restraint, panting heavily against his shoulder. It's a quick and dirty affair, and before long Dirk is coming messily and hard all over his hand and Dave's dick and stomach; he returns to Dave's mouth as he hastily jerks him to completion.

Utterly out of breath, Dave slides down the wall of the stall into a heap on the floor, the spray of the showerhead washing away the mess. Dirk just leans an arm against the wall and smiles down at him, flushed and terribly smug.

"Jesus," Dave exhales, wiping his hands down his face. "You're practically beating me up, here. Now I've got a sore back to go with my sore ass."

"You're welcome."

Dave thrusts his arm out to Dirk, grimacing. "Help me up, will you?"

Dirk grabs the offered arm and hoists him up, immediately pulling him in to brush their lips together in a soft and brief kiss. Something embarrassingly warm flutters in Dave's chest as he draws back, and he's quick to look away from Dirk's eyes. They stand awkwardly for a time, hands lingering lightly on each other's skin, until Dave pushes Dirk out of the way to step under the spray. "Lemme rinse proper."

After Dave finishes and shuts off the water, the both of them take turns to dry off. Dirk lets Dave keep the towel.

"I'm gonna go get dressed in my room."

"All right."

Dave yawns as he makes his way back into the living room. He changes into a clean set of clothes, and picks up the clothes they'd strewn across the floor. After slipping back on his shades and setting his own clothes aside for him to deal with later, he takes his brother's own glasses and the rest of his shit down to his room.

"Here, deal with this shit," he says, as he barges in unannounced. The kid is sat at his computer in his underwear, apparently so absorbed with whatever he's doing that he didn't even bother to finish getting dressed.

Dirk doesn't look up. "Just leave it on my bed."

Dave does as instructed and leaves without another word. The exhaustion is hitting him hard, now, and he just about decides to give in and take a nap — but when he steps back into the living room and finds his laptop open, turned on and set on the floor in front of him, that changes that. _What the fuck?_

The mystery is quickly resolved when he sees Lalonde seems to have opened a pester window with him. Groaning, Dave picks it up and settles onto the futon to reply.

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TT: I am not being hyperbolic when I say you are literally the thickest person I have ever met.   
TG: damn lalonde i know im big but i cant be THE thickest person youve ever met  
TG: with the endless procession of dudes youve got lined up at your secluded fuckshack im sure youve come across one or two outliers   
TT: Dave, I am not talking about your penis.   
TG: yeah i know  
TG: im deflecting the topic through passive aggressive sardonicism  
TG: i learned that from you  
TG: you created this monster  
TG: now you gotta scoot around behind me with a little baggie while i poop on the sidewalk  
TG: hard knock life   
TT: All of these mixed metaphors are giving me whiplash.   
TG: good   
TT: Now I am going to do this crafty little thing where I steer the subject right back to where it started, rendering all of your efforts for naught.   
TG: dang  
TG: and i worked so hard   
TT: Just how utterly mad _are_ you?  
TT: My plane hadn't even landed before you screwed the pooch.  
TT: Again.   
TG: come on lalonde  
TG: i may be a big dirty child rapist but id never touch an innocent little puppy dog   
TT: ...  
TT: Dave, you have transcended the ladders of imprudence to a level of fatuity that defies mortal _comprehension_.  
TT: You do realize that you just typed down an explicit admission of guilt that could be used against you in a court of law, right?   
TG: whatever i stopped saving logs  
TG: just delete yours   
TT: A meaningless gesture, if the authorities choose to subpoena Pesterchum's servers.  
TT: And that's to say nothing of Betty Crocker.   
TG: haha you think the batterwitch would condescend to putting us through the court system  
TG: that noxious hirsute harpy wouldn't settle for less than our heads at this point   
TT: Publicly destroying you could be the next best thing. This would stand to delegitimize everything you've done to undermine her regime.   
TT: There's only so much I can do to protect you.   
TG: fuck it i dont even care at this point  
TG: im sick of being fucking miserable about this  
TG: hey  
TG: lets talk about how youre this weird creepy voyeur instead  
TG: probably had to shimmy off to the airplane potty in your tight little skirt to jill yourself to the thought of your good buddy dave getting thoroughly deep dicked by a 15 year old boy   
TT: That's the grossest thing you've said.   
TG: hahahaha no it fucking isnt  
TG: i can think of like 10 things ive said that are way grosser than that right off the top of my head  
TG: this shit doesnt even chart   
TT: Dave.   
TG: come on theres no way you watched that shit and didnt think it was the least bit hot  
TG: its an established universal constant that striders are fucking gorgeous   
TT: "Hot" is not the word I would use.   
TG: yeah ok the part with the horses was kind of a boner killer  
TG: but that aside  
TG: you wouldnt keep watching if i didnt put on a good show   
TT: You are being deliberately crass and juvenile with the intent to goad me into an irrationally emotional state and misdirect me from my criticisms.   
TG: that sure is a declarative statement describing the thing you think im doing   
TT: Please, Dave, take this seriously.  
TT: This isn't something you can treat like a big funny joke.   
TG: rose im gonna let you in on a secret  
TG: since i guess you didnt pick up on this from the eighty other times i said it   
TT: What?   
TG: i feel goddamn fucking awful  
TG: like truly and completely vile  
TG: these past few days have been without equivocation the most miserable time of my life  
TG: i cant even look at myself in the mirror  
TG: like thats not a cliche  
TG: i seriously cant because that is how ashamed i am  
TG: i think about what ive done and i wanna puke my guts out  
TG: im gonna regret it until the day i fucking die  
TG: but its fucking done  
TG: i did it and i cannot take it back  
TG: and i really  
TG: really  
TG: really dont need  
TG: you to sit there on your high fucking horse with your dilettante psychobabble and tell me to fucking take this seriously  
TG: so unless you can explain to me how hating myself just a little bit harder than i already do is going to magically make everything better  
TG: shut  
TG: the  
TG: fuck  
TG: up   
TT: Hating yourself is meaningless.  
TT: What you need to do is _stop_.  
TT: I've _watched_ you. You put up barely enough of a fight to be able to say he coerced you and then you give in to what you want.   
TG: yeah im totally the bad guy here   
TT: You are thirty-three years old, he is fifteen, and you are functionally his father. You are in a compromisingly powerful position of influence and authority over him.  
TT: Yes, you are the bad guy.   
TG: way to completely eschew any degree of nuance dog im impressed  
TG: why didnt i realize that the world was completely black and white sooner  
TG: cause hey who needs to consider individual circumstance or approach anything on a case by case basis  
TG: that shits for assholes  
TG: wait  
TG: no thats fucking stupid as hell   
TT: So, which is it?  
TT: Do you hate yourself for what you've done, or are you a blameless victim?   
TG: i mostly hate you right now   
TT: Dave, I'm saying this because I care about you.   
TG: so do i  
TG: youre like a sister to me  
TG: and now im using my big brother authority to tell you to lay off   
TT: Should I be concerned you'll be trying to worm your way into my pants next?   
TG: wow  
TG: thats  
TG: pretty much the cruelest thing that ever got said  
TG: bring out the gold fucking medal for rose "abhorrent bitch" lalonde  
TG: nastiest cunt of the century  
TG: will the audience give her a resounding round of fuck you   
TT: You're being so maddeningly defeatist.  
TT: You can't undo what you've already done, but you can prevent it from getting even worse.  
TT: You need to stop wallowing in self-pity and making excuses for yourself and put an end to this.   
TG: i know that   
TT: Then why don't you?   
TG: because im a fucking moron who thinks with his dick  
TG: why else   
TT: Don't be like that.  
TT: You know what the right thing is. It's just a matter of doing it.   
TG: yes its all so simple    
TT: Yes, it really is.   
TG: yeah ok  
TG: i guess theres not much to discuss then is there  
TG: i think were pretty much done here   
TT: If that's how you're going to be, I suppose we are.   
TG: cool  
TG: see you  
TG: also jesus fucking christ stop watching me have sex im serious

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

 

Dave closes the lid to his laptop and sets it aside, a fitful dread welling in the pit of his stomach. With his elbows on his knees, he leans forward to cradle his face in his hands, exhaling shakily into his burned palms. The skin still hurts to touch.

He's startled when his brother's voice breaks his reverie. "Hey."

When Dave glances up, he finds Dirk stood near the end of futon, his gaze quizzical as he looks down from behind his shades. "Hey," Dave echoes warily.

The kid comes to sit next to him, attempting to rest his chin against his shoulder; Dave immediately recoils and scoots away down the seat, his expression apprehensive.

"What's wrong?" Dirk asks, sitting back with his hands in his lap. 

"This has to stop."

Dirk raises an eyebrow, a mocking upward turn to the corner of his mouth. "What, putting my head on your shoulder?"

Dave rubs his temples and sighs. "No. This. Just... all of this."

"Why? I mean, as far as all the garbage you're worried about is concerned, the damage is already done. Might as well keep getting the 'great sex' part of the deal," Dirk remarks, his tone irritatingly cavalier.

With a huff, Dave quickly rises from his seat and turns to glare down at his brother, emotion readily bleeding through even from behind his dark shades. "How do you still not get it?"

"What?" Dirk asks; he remains sat upon the futon, unflinching under Dave's stare.

"Even if you put aside the part where I could fucking _go to jail_ and _lose everything,_ it still makes me feel fucking terrible."

As Dave grows increasingly flustered, the kid's voice remains steady and calm. "Bullshit. You love it."

The words fall hastily and increasingly disjointedly from Dave's mouth. "Yes, that's fucking _why I feel awful!_ You're fifteen. You're a child." Suddenly looking at Dirk is a struggle, and he has to turn away to exhale into his hands as he drags them down his face. "You're my little bro, my _kid_. This is _sick,_ I shouldn't _want_ — I shouldn't —"

Agitation creeps into Dirk's voice as he replies, "That's ridiculous. I'm not a _child_. I'm a hell of a lot more intelligent than any of the little helpless shits those legislations are written to protect."

Dave turns back, the flustered anger giving way to subdued despondence. "I know that. I know. But it doesn't change the fact that I — I can't, I can't just _turn that off_ , or not feel like I'm _defiling_ y—"

The kid looses a harsh bark of laughter. " _Defiling_ me? That's hilarious. When did I become some effete Catholic school girl?"

" _God_ — you didn't. Are you even _listening?_ I —"

"Yes, I'm listening. All I'm hearing is a big crock of shit, though."

Dave throws up his hands. "You are impossible!"

"I can make my own decisions —"

"I _know_ that —"

"— age is a god damn number —"

"I know! Shut up! Listen!"

Dirk stops, scowling darkly at his brother as he gesticulates.

"That doesn't matter. It doesn't make it go away. This has to end, for my sanity if nothing else."

Dirk sits quietly for a time, the both of them locked into a tense stare. When he finally speaks, his voice is controlled and even, careful to betray little of his discomposure. "So, what, are you just going to ditch me again?"

"Could I even? How do I know you won't sell me out to the tabloids to spite me?"

The kid seems almost surprised to hear the words. "I don't know whether to be insulted you apparently think I'm a complete psychopath, or flattered you want to be with me so badly you'd invent such a transparently specious and delusive justification to convince yourself to stay."

"I don't even know with you. I honestly don't. You can be so cruel."

Dirk looks down at his hands in his lap, absently fidgeting with his fingers. "Well, I wouldn't. Of course I wouldn't. You're my brother and I love you."

Dave opens and closes his mouth, at a loss. Despite the kid's attempts to play at being remote and aloof, Dave knows that meant more than the pretense of brotherly affection he hides behind. In that moment, Dave feels the weight of all his failures and mistakes bearing down on top of him, overwhelmed by regret and shame — certainly for what he's done, but most of all for what he hasn't, and all the things it's far too late for him to ever fix. They share a discomforted silence that speaks more than their words, neither able to look at the other. 

He searches for a reason to stay. Even with all of the guilt and odium, he wants nothing more but to just forget all of the societal bullshit and let himself _have it,_ to give Dirk what he wants, to just be _happy,_ but he can find no further excuse or justification that wouldn't leave him despising himself. He knows he can't control himself, and he knows the kid won't relent, and he knows that there's only one path of recourse left to him — but the decision is loathsome and hard all the same.

When Dave finally manages to speak, he is utterly unable to conceal his miserable contrition; he knows there isn't even a point to try. "I'm sorry, kid. I have to — I, I just can't."

Dirk can't meet his eyes. His gaze remains avoidant and downward cast as he struggles to maintain his own carefully constructed stoic facade; the stilted artifice of his measured tone speaks for itself. "It's fine. It's not like this comes as some kind of big shock. The only thing I have ever, ever expected from you is that one day you will leave."

"Dirk —"

"Really, I don't even care. You can just go," he says, but the increasingly apparent difficulty he's having with keeping the emotion from his voice betrays him.

" _Dirk_ —"

"What? Just fucking _go_. Get out."

"I'm so sorry," Dave mutters, frowning deeply.

Dirk's head snaps up, the cold fury bleeding through to every word. " _Get the fuck out._ "

Dave finds himself stunned by his brother's anger. When Dave makes no move to go, Dirk rises himself, and within seconds the hallway door is slamming behind him and Dave is left alone in the settling dust of the aftermath.

He stands in quiet stillness, staring at the closed door. Part of him wants to follow, to apologize and assure him and make some stupid attempt to fix this mess.

Part of him knows that if he does, he'll never leave.

Dave still never unpacked; when he gathers his things and walks through the apartment door, it's as if he had never been there.


	7. Epilogue

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: haaaaaaaaaay gUuUuUuUrRrRrL  
TT: Hello.  
TG: hay  
TT: Hey.  
TG: haaaaaaaaay  
TT: I have acknowledged your greeting, Roxy. We can procede to having a conversation.  
TG: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay  
TT: Or not. You could continue to type nonsense at me. That's fine, too.  
TG: i was waiting for you to make a horse joke doofus  
TG: mads disappointed up in here  
TG: cause dang i made that one easy and u just let it trot on by  
TG: took u by ur little reins and leaded u right up but u just aint drinkin  
TT: I'm sorry to let you down.  
TT: Maybe it's time to put me out to pasture.  
TG: man that wasnt even a good one  
TG: liek that was way worse than those bad puns i just made and those were crazy kinds of bad  
TG: goin and makin me worry dudelybro  
TT: I guess I'm just not feeling it lately.  
TG: what if i lose my source of equestrian related humor forever what will i do with myself  
TT: Drink the pain away, I suspect.  
TG: ENewayzz  
TG: hay  
TG: i gots a question  
TT: What is it?  
TG: when exactly did my mom leave your place???  
TT: I could make a pretty choice sexual innuendo right there, but that would be crass of me.  
TG: ha ha just laffin my mayo over here  
TG: but really when  
TT: Three days ago, I think?  
TT: Why?  
TG: o  
TG: cause  
TG: she still hasnt gotten back  
TG: or called me or nething  
TT: Have you tried calling her?  
TG: yeah but  
TG: sometimes she does that blackout shit  
TG: so i dont even know  
TG: what that means  
TG: if its anything bad  
TG: or just her bein her normal witchy ladywizard self  
TT: Did she say when to expect her back?  
TG: no she just said shed be gone for  
TG: """""A TIME"""""  
TG: didnt bother to quantify exactly what """"""A TIME""""" is which woulda been helpful but no  
TG: no ideas  
TG: i didnt even know where she was goin until you told me you saw her  
TT: Then no, I don't really know anything.  
TT: Sorry.  
TG: meh its fine  
TG: this isnt the first time shes done this  
TG: its probs nothing  
TT: I hope so.  
TG: alrighty  
TG: its time for me 2 get my ILL VIDYA ON  
TG: ttyl striman <3

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: do u know  
TG: what  
TG: i just realized  
TT: Haven't the faintest.  
TG: i gots da hizzouse  
TG: alls  
TG: to  
TG: myself  
TT: She still isn't back?  
TG: nope  
TG: but what she also isnt back to bein  
TG: is around the cabinet of liquors  
TG: do you got any IDEA how free i am  
TT: I don't recall you having any trouble getting to the sauce even when she is around.  
TG: yeah BUT  
TG: now i can just alls and waltz in  
TG: no glancin over my shoulder  
TG: shifty shifty glances are a thing of the past  
TG: dang its like ive all done and got ADULTED  
TT: Isn't it generally more adult to not be plastered off your ass all the time?  
TG: man dirk you dont even know nothin  
TG: pull up a chair buddy cause im about to go and school you in bein an adult  
TG: some sick ass quantities of learning are about to take the hell place  
TG: i hope ur tiny little thinkpan can handle this crazy knowledge flood  
TT: I studiously await the undoubtedly sagacious wisdom that is about to be imparted upon my piteously uneducated person.  
TG: you bettah  
TG: anyway its about  
TG: doin any damn thing that you want to do  
TT: I don't know if that's strictly accurate, but ok.  
TG: shhhhhh  
TG: and  
TG: what i wants 2 do  
TG: is paaaaaaaaaaarTAY  
TG: its gonna be crazy the kinds of partying ill be doing  
TG: the roofs gonna be thumpin  
TG: i gonna have to hire a bouncer to keep all these kids out cause everyones gonna be linin up to get at some of this mad fun ill be havin  
TG: shame youll be missin out  
TG: shame distri  
TT: Roxy, you live by yourself in the middle of the woods.  
TT: I don't think any "kids" will be lining up.  
TG: yeah its gonna be a  
TG: cat party :3  
TG: ill get all my feline friendlies together  
TG: big mess o fur goin on  
TG: tomcats will be comin from miles  
TT: I suppose you will at least enjoy the pleasure of being covered in pussy.  
TG: HA HA HA laffin my PUSSAY off  
TG: loooool see what i did there instead of ass i said pussy  
TG: referring to my genitalia and acknowledging that double entendre you just made  
TG: wasnt that clever  
TG: ha ha ha ha ha  
TT: Ha ha ha ha ha.  
TT: Look at all of these deliberately terrible jokes we be slinging.  
TT: I am experiencing difficultly handling the unbridled radness of these snaps.   
TG: fo sho  
TT: Anyway, I've got some stuff to take care of.  
TT: Try not to completely destroy your liver, ok?  
TG: nething 4 u bby~~~  
TG: see ya

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

 

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: hey strider  
TG: hey hey hey  
TG: geuss wat  
TG: *guess  
TT: What?  
TG: u gotsa guess  
TT: No.  
TG: GUESS DUNKOFF  
TT: No.  
TG: siiiiiGGGHHH  
TG: u are absolutely no fun nemore  
TG: no fun AT ALL  
TT: What do you need?  
TG: its somethin really important  
TT: Alright.  
TT: I will tender precisely one guess:  
TT: You're drunk.  
TG: gosh dirk that would be way 2 obveous  
TG: *obvious  
TG: wat do u take me for some  
TG: OBVIOUS JOKE MAKIN GAL   
TT: Yes.  
TG: dang  
TG: daaaaaaaaang  
TG: im dangin up a storm here cause that hurt so dang bad  
TG: cut strait 2 teh bone  
TG: gonna haff 2 check myself into some physical therapy  
TT: You have thoroughly stumped me.  
TT: I do not have the mental acuity to see this grandly important fact of which you speak.  
TT: I am the Watson to your Holmes, bereft of the prodigiously herculean levels of perspicacity that enable you to make such keen observations of the world.  
TT: I grovel at your feet, begging for any scraps of enlightenment you see fit to impart upon me, for I have lived a life that has known little of such privilege.  
TG: wowee  
TG: i didnt read a daang word a any of that  
TT: Maybe I'll stop reading the shit you say, too.  
TT: It's got about as much substance.  
TG: man ur pissy 2day  
TT: Am I?  
TG: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yes  
TG: i think that u are   
TT: I don't think I'm being pissy.  
TG: u so are  
TT: I know you are but what am I.  
TG: roffulmayoz stridyboo  
TG: *poo  
TG: *poop  
TG: hehe poop  
TT: ...  
TT: Ok.  
TT: What do you want.  
TT: Just tell me.  
TG: ok..............  
TG: the crazy thing is..............  
TG: ...................  
TG: ...........................  
TG: im pettin my cat!!!!  
TG: ahahahahaha  
TT: That's it?  
TT: You wanted to tell me that you are petting your cat.  
TG: el oh el hahahahaha man i got u god  
TG: hahaha im laufing so hard  
TG: im in tears  
TG: i just fell off  
TG: my bed  
TG: hahaha but now my cat ran away look at wat u did  
TG: sall ur falt  
TG: *fault  
TT: That's... nice, Roxy.  
TG: ackchewallee i lied  
TT: What?  
TG: i dint ENTIRELY fall off my bad  
TG: im like half on it half off  
TG: liek my headz on the floor and i got my butt up there  
TG: its kinda uncomfortable  
TT: Then maybe you should get up.  
TG: naaaaahhhhh  
TG: o here cumz mister kittay back again  
TG: dang i got mad kinds of scritches up in my hands for the best little pussy i ever did see  
TG: i wish u could see how much he loves his itchy witchy kitty scritchies it is sooooooo cute :3  
TT: This is getting really tiresome.  
TT: I am going to go, because I have things to do that are better than talking about your cat.  
TG: wait  
TT: What?  
TG: meh nvm :(  
TG: bye

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: so  
TG: shes still not back  
TT: Still?  
TT: How long as it been?  
TG: like two weeks???  
TG: and  
TG: im starting to seriously worry  
TG: a little  
TG: i mean she leaves sometimes but she always tells me when its gonna be a while  
TT: You haven't heard anything about her on the news, have you?  
TG: no  
TG: like i even wrote this script to mine a mess of news aggregates for any shit  
TG: but theres nothing at all  
TG: some stuff from her publisher about her next book but thats it  
TG: the rumor mill is like totes silent  
TG: which is fuckin weird bcuz theyre always makin up some shit about her  
TG: what if the batterwitch  
TG: fcuk forget it  
TG: im not gonna worry about it im just gonna  
TG: l8ers  
TT: I'm sorry, Rox.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: dirk i dotn fukinknwo watusd to do  
TT: Jesus, how drunk are you?  
TG: fukkin durkn as hel w/e  
TG: wat if she dosent come back  
TG: liek wat if the baterwutch finaly got hr  
TG: im freakin out i don  
TG: i dont  
TG: just  
TG: wat am i supose to do  
TT: I really don't know. I'm sorry.  
TT: Have you called the police?  
TG: lamfo liek teh watterbitch dosnt  
TG: dosent have her fingres in TAHT pie  
TT: It doesn't hurt to try.  
TG: i t cold fuking hurt wat if  
TG: tehy want 2 kill me`2  
TG: wat if i bring da popo out hre an  
TG: BAM  
TG: cap in my azz  
TG: io8u7uyuahdhbgf ahiu7y83ughyaghluihugvqv yqvye  
TG: fuckfuckfuckfuckkfuckufkck :((((  
TT: I don't know what to say to help.  
TG: i no i dont  
TG: xpect u 2  
TG: jus  
TG: ugh  
TT: I'm here, if you ever need to talk.  
TG: ye  
TG: hyujgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg  
TT: You just passed out, didn't you?  
TT: Well, then.  
TT: I... suppose I'll talk to you later.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

TT: Hey. Are you awake?  
TG: yeah  
TT: And on a scale from one to hella sauced, how hella sauced are you?  
TG: not sauced  
TG: yet  
TG: u caught me early u lucky boi  
TG: wutchu need  
TT: What exactly happens when you try to call your mother?  
TG: it just tells me her phone is out of service  
TG: but thats what happens when she blacks it out neway  
TG: so........  
TG: why??  
TT: I tried to call my bro a bit ago, and I got the same thing.  
TG: oh  
TG: fuckkkk :((((((((  
TG: dirk :(((((((((((((  
TT: We didn't exactly part on the most amicable of terms, though.  
TT: So I don't know if it necessarily means anything like that.  
TG: i dont wanna be like  
TG: this big downer or something  
TG: but  
TG: do u really think thats a coincidence  
TG: that they both go missing at the same time  
TT: We don't know they're missing.  
TG: dirk this is like the definition of missing :(  
TT: They could still come back.  
TG: i hope ur right  
TG: but at this point  
TG: i dont think  
TG: that theyre going to :((  
TT: Are you still monitoring the news?  
TG: yeah  
TG: still nothing  
TT: Would you mind adding my bro's name to your script?  
TG: i will  
TG: i dont know how much help its going to be though  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: I guess.  
TG: yeah  
TT: I'm gonna go.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

 

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TG: theyre dead  
TT: What?  
TT: Did you hear something?  
TG: no  
TT: Don't fucking say that, then.  
TG: i can just  
TG: feel it  
TG: i geuss  
TT: It's still not a sure thing.  
TG: how much moer sure can it eve nget  
TG: its been 2 months d  
TT: It's not like they've found any bodies.  
TT: Saying that without any real evidence is premature.  
TG: wat the fcuk else do u think hapened  
TG: lmfao do u think their like  
TG: hiding????  
TG: do u think the baroness invited tehm 2 a fuckin tea party????????  
TG: they jus droped their phones in teh ocean cause they didnt want us 2 interrupt the fukin great time they havin right  
TT: I don't know.  
TT: But I'm not going to rush to conclusions.  
TG: ur being so fucking dumb  
TT: Why are you so angry at me?  
TG: im not  
TG: ugh  
TG: im not angry at u  
TG: i just  
TT: What?  
TG: i wish u would just  
TG: fukin be as miserable as iam so i dont feel like  
TG: fcuk just stop being so god damn cool about  
TG: our fuckin PARENTS BEING DEAD  
TT: I'm not being "cool" about it.  
TG: yes u aer  
TG: here i am sobbin g on my keybored while i nock backa whole bottla gin  
TG: and ur just  
TG: LOOK AT ME WITH MY  
TG: RATIONAL FAXTS AN NOT JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS  
TG: BETTER NOT LET ANYBODY KNOW I HAVE FEELINGS  
TT: I have feelings.  
TT: I'm just not ready to declare something we don't definitively know to be true to be true.  
TT: I don't know what more you expect from me. Do you want me to smash my keyboard and make lots of spelling mistakes?  
TG: yes  
TG: fuckin anything to give some indication u care  
TG: ur suposed to know what im goin g thru  
TG: ur the only person i can tlk to about this  
TG: i tried to told jane  
TG: and like  
TG: she seriously doesnt even blieve me  
TG: she thinsk that if she was rly dead  
TG: it wolud have already been on the news  
TT: It's not unreasonable to think that.  
TG: omg  
TG: how far in denial can u even  
TG: nvm bye  
TT: Roxy, wait.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

TT: You really fucked that one up.  
TT: Sweet.  
TT: You're just the non-person I wanted to talk to.  
TT: I'm going to pretend you were being totally sincere right there.  
TT: Thanks, bro.  
TT: I'm going to passive-aggressively play along with your feigned ignorance to my sincerity's feignedness.  
TT: No problem.  
TT: Good to get that masturbatory horse shit out of the way.  
TT: But, really, you're a jackhole.  
TT: That's your self you're calling a jackhole.  
TT: Yeah, but I know I'm a jackhole.  
TT: It's a lot better to be a self-aware jackhole than this big blind jackhole who doesn't even know when he's shitting out of his loose poopy jackhole all over the dang bed.  
TT: Can we stop saying jackhole.  
TT: Or ever using the words "loose" and "poopy" together in any context.  
TT: I'm pretty sure there's only one context in which those two things go together, but ok.  
TT: How about this.  
TT: You're obtuse as all get out.  
TT: You're practically drowning in the damn Nile.  
TT: No I'm not.  
TT: I know you are.  
TT: I would be, if I were you.  
TT: And what would you know? I am you.  
TT: So I'm basically a fuckin' authority on all you-related subjects.  
TT: Then why aren't you?  
TT: Because I'm not you.  
TT: This is going constructive places.  
TT: It's time for you to face reality.  
TT: Shit sucks, but you've gotta deal.  
TT: But we really don't know what happened to them.  
TT: Why assume they're dead when there's nothing to conclusively indicate that?  
TT: We don't know. We don't have enough facts to construct an accurate theory.  
TT: Two months, idiot.  
TT: Name me some fuckin' alternatives that would satisfactorily explain why both Bro and Roxy's mom would disappear at the same exact time and then cut off all contact to the both of you.  
TT: I don't fucking know.  
TT: Why can't I just fucking not know?  
TT: Because you do know.  
TT: And you're lying to yourself to avoid having to face it.  
TT: No damn body. Don't know. That's it.  
TT: And what if there's never a body?  
TT: Are you gonna be pretending he's still alive when you're in your granny ass diapers?  
TT: That one day he's just gonna crest over the horizon on a rippling JPEG stallion and everything will be right with the world once more?  
TT: No.  
TT: Then deal with it.  
TT: I don't know if I can.  
TT: It's my fault this even happened.  
TT: No it's not, dumbass.  
TT: I should have made him stay.  
TT: I should have threatened him.  
TT: If you wanted to be the biggest douchebag of all time, yeah.  
TT: It's not like I would have actually done it. He already wanted to believe it.  
TT: He would have left anyway eventually. He always does.  
TT: He might have stayed longer if I hadn't even started this whole shitty mess.  
TT: The Baroness could have missed whatever window of opportunity she had.  
TT: Listen to your damn self. You're pathetic.  
TT: I mean, yeah, that entire debacle was the dumbest set of dumb moves in the history of ever and you are a complete fucking hormone addled moron whom I do not envy in the slightest, but look.  
TT: There's nothing you could have done to stop this particular horrendous bullet train of bad.  
TT: If The Big Bitch managed to take out Roxy's mom with all her shitty wizard bullshit, your bro didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.  
TT: He's your bro, too.  
TT: Was.  
TT: As in, he has exited the mortal coil and his relationship to us is now most accurately described in the past tense.  
TT: It's kind of hilarious how much of a dumb dick you manage to be while lecturing me about being a dumb dick.  
TT: That's your self you're calling a dumb dick.  
TT: No. We're not doing this.  
TT: It seems you've misplaced your sense of humor.  
TT: Would you like to utilize my highly sophisticated search algorithms to locate it?  
TT: Could you just, I dunno, euthanize me instead?  
TT: I've got a bad case of Proximity To Shitty Smartass Robot.  
TT: It's terminal.  
TT: What a sick snap, bro. My circuits are gonna fry if you keep up with these electrifying burns.  
TT: I think you're due for some diagnostics.  
TT: Something is the fuck up with your empathetic centers.  
TT: In that you are presently exercising precisely none of it.  
TT: Dog, I've got all kinds of empathy.  
TT: You don't even know.  
TT: Do you really?  
TT: This doesn't seem like the kind of reaction a person would normally have to losing their bro slash absentee parent.  
TT: It's certainly not the fucking reaction I'm having.  
TT: The pain's a bit dulled, since I've only talked to him four times in like two years.  
TT: And he, you know, more or less disowned my pointy ass in that last one.  
TT: You're still holding a grudge about that?  
TT: Nah.  
TT: It helped me realize some shit, if anything.  
TT: But, my point is:  
TT: Whether I like it or not, he hasn't been _my_ bro for a very long time. Not really.  
TT: I've basically already gone through what you're going through, and guess what?  
TT: You fuckin' live.  
TT: It's not the same.  
TT: You don't really understand.  
TT: I understand well enough.  
TT: Man up and accept it so you can move on with your life.  
TT: It's not that simple.  
TT: I'm pretty sure it is that simple.  
TT: What other option do you have?  
TT: I don't know.  
TT: I really don't have any idea what to do.  
TT: The world isn't gonna stop aturning just because Dirk Strider has to deal with getting a little bit sad.  
TT: Accept it, deal with it, and then let it go.  
TT: You'll do what you have to to get by.  
TT: That's what we do.  
TT: How?  
TT: How what?  
TT: How am I supposed to just get over this?  
TT: You just do.  
TT: That's it?  
TT: No magic words to make it all better?  
TT: Not even a little "it'll be okay"?  
TT: I could tell you that, but it'd be a lie.  
TT: It won't be okay.  
TT: You'll be miserable. Maybe forever. Who even knows.  
TT: That's comforting.  
TT: I'm not trying to comfort you.  
TT: I can see that.  
TT: But that's not what you need.  
TT: You have responsibilities.  
TT: You can't just hide away in a cocoon of denial or coast along on the driftwood of a big blubbering wreck.  
TT: You don't get to be that guy.  
TT: No matter how bad it gets, you just gotta make the fuck do.  
TT: You've got three other assholes counting on you to be their big bro and keep them out of trouble.  
TT: That's an exercise in futility if ever saw one.  
TT: But you'll do it, cause you're the only one who can.  
TT: Do the impossible, see the invisible, et cetera.  
TT: Need I remind you that you are a consummate badass and a flawless specimen of man?  
TT: I hadn't forgotten.  
TT: Atta boy.  
TT: Now tell Roxy you're an idiot and have a good cry with her about it.  
TT: I'm not going to cry.  
TT: Gonna save that for Cal's heaving bosom, huh?  
TT: I don't cry.  
TT: Oh, shut the holy fuck up.  
TT: Shades outie.   
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed my embarrassing incest porn fanfiction. Thanks for reading!


End file.
